


The Games We Play

by menel



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Seduction, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would the consequences be if Aragorn had to barter something, or someone, in exchange for passage through Lórien? (Inspired by Aragorn and Haldir's whispered discussion in the "Fellowship" extended DVD.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Players

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: AU, combination of book and movie verse. Some dialogue and descriptions are lifted or liberally paraphrased from both mediums. 
> 
> This fic was a response to Catz's challenge posted on the HLA Slash List in 2003. Thanks to her for the inspiration and to Panthera for providing beta.

Legolas stood at the edge of the large wooden flet, still looking about in wonder at the mallorn trees that surrounded him. Their bark was smooth and shone silver gray in the moonlight. The Mirkwood Prince had never visited the Golden Wood before, and it was though the tales and songs he had heard about the glory of Lothlórien had sprung to life. A sense of peace had overcome him the moment he had stepped foot within this sacred realm, easing the burden of Gandalf's loss. Even the Dwarf’s mutterings about an evil sorceress of great power had failed to dampen his spirits. Relief spread through the Fellowship to be away from the living darkness of Moria, and the company had soothed their feet in the healing waters of Nimrodel. As they rested by the gentle stream, Legolas had found it within himself to sing once again. But the tale of Nimrodel and her star-crossed lover, the Elven Prince Amroth, had a bitter end and his voice had faltered as his memory had failed him.

Still, it was good to be among the Eldar. The Galadhrim were tall and fair of face. Clad in their cloaks of gray, they moved soundlessly and blended effortlessly into their ancient forest. Their manner remained reserved, cool though somewhat distant in the eyes of the Fellowship. 

“I don’t think they like us,” Legolas had overheard the youngest hobbit say to his cousin. 

“It is not that they don’t like us,” the Elf had explained gently, “they are merely being cautious. In these perilous times, it is difficult to know whom to trust.” 

“Well,” Pippin sniffed. “We hardly look like the dangerous sort.” 

“And you’re a Prince, Legolas!” Merry exclaimed.

“Who is traveling with a Dwarf, four Halflings, a Captain of Gondor and an exiled King,” he had replied, laughing. “A rather motley crew, wouldn’t you say?” 

The Elf had smiled to soften his words, but the Hobbits understood their meaning well enough. Now he stood by the flet’s edge while Merry and Pippin continued their quiet conversation. On the other side of the talan sat Frodo and Sam; near them were Gimli and Boromir. A little behind Legolas, Aragorn remained in whispered discussion with Haldir, the ranger's emphatic gestures giving some indication of how heated their conversation had become.

The Prince could feel the March Warden looking intently at him, and he turned his head to meet the other Elf's gaze. Haldir held it for only a moment, and then returned his attention to the Man before him. Legolas looked away and concentrated on the peaceful sounds of nature. He had noticed the curious looks that he had received from the Galadhrim, who were trying to discreetly scrutinize their woodland cousin. The Prince paid them no mind. He had spent enough time at his father's court to remain unaffected by whispers and stares. However, it was the March Warden who intrigued him the most, but he ensured that his interest remained unseen.

~*~*~*~

“I can let you go no further,” the Guardian said sternly. “I have already done much in allowing you to come this far.”

“Haldir of Lórien,” Aragorn replied, “we come to you at a time of great need and great loss. We seek shelter and the counsel of the Lord and Lady of the Wood, for surely they have heard tidings of our quest.” 

“It is true that Elves bearing messages from Lord Elrond have come to our realm,” Haldir answered, “but these tidings said nothing of a Dwarf in your company.” He glanced at the _hadhod_ with a mixture of disdain and distrust. The Galadhrim had not had any dealings with the hadhodrim in centuries, and Gimli had hardly endeared himself with his opening remarks. 

“I apologize on the Dwarf's behalf,” the Ranger said sincerely, “and I hold myself accountable for his actions.” 

The apology and acceptance of accountability seemed to please the Elf, but still he shook his head. 

Aragorn could feel the first signs of desperation start to creep inside him. So much had already gone awry, they could not be turned away now! 

“What can I do to change your mind?” he said quietly. “What can I offer to earn your trust?” 

At these words the Guardian’s eyes focused on something behind the Man. Aragorn knew who stood there and he forced himself to take a deep breath, not to read too much into what he saw within the Elf's gray eyes. At length, Haldir looked at him again. 

“You already curry the favor of the Lady,” he said. “You have nothing to prove, Dúnadan. It is those who travel with you that we do not trust. It is fortunate then, that one of your companions is our woodland kin, the son of Thranduil, no less.” Haldir's eyes drifted back to Legolas, looking over the Elf admiringly. “He is very beautiful,” the Guardian mused aloud. “Our race is fair, but even by our standards, he shines like a rare jewel.” 

“What you ask is not within my power to give.” Aragorn’s voice was low and lethal, interrupting the Elf's thoughts. 

Haldir glanced at the Ranger sharply. “I did not _ask_ for anything,” he said coldly. 

“That is true,” the Man conceded. “But what you _implied_ is beyond my power to give,” Aragorn said, rephrasing his previous statement. “And even if it were . . .” he could not help muttering, his voice trailing off as he looked at the trees beyond the Elf.

“You would not give it,” the March Warden finished for him. “I see.” 

Aragorn felt uneasy at the glint in the Guardian’s eye at this newly acquired knowledge. He felt like a fool for carelessly revealing too much. He had not been himself of late. Distracted. Grieving. He felt heavy in body and soul, the call of duty and obligation ever present in his mind. 

“You debase our quest by bartering passage in this way.” The Man’s words were uncharacteristically harsh, but he did not curb them. 

Rather than being offended, the glint in the Guardian’s eye grew and his delicate lips formed a devious smile. 

“He has a youthful, almost innocent appearance,” the Elf observed, “but I suspect that beneath that façade is a hardened warrior and a passionate lover. Would you agree with my assessment, Dúnadan? Or perhaps,” he paused, raising an eyebrow questioningly, “you know that already?” 

It took all of Aragorn’s resolve not to strike the stunning creature before him. It was true. He and Legolas had been lovers once, during a youth that seemed impossibly distant. It had been another lifetime to the now care worn Man. They had not parted amicably and their friendship had faded with the passing years, during which they seldom saw one another. There had been times, especially when the Ranger had been alone in the wilds, where not even the grace of the Evenstar could drive his loneliness away, that the desire to seek out the Prince had become almost unbearable. 

When news reached him that his foster father had chosen Legolas to be part of this quest, his reaction had been a mixture of surprise and joy. He knew that he could put aside their differences in order to work together effectively, perhaps rekindle a valuable friendship. So much time had passed. But Aragorn had forgotten that the perception of time was not the same for Men and Elves. What had been many long seasons to him had merely been the blink of an eye to his former lover. Legolas was as beautiful and ageless as the Man remembered, but the Prince had greeted him with a stiff formality, and he understood at once how it was going to be. Taking his lead from the Elf, he accepted the lessened familiarity and mutual respect that existed between them. 

The quest had been long and difficult, and as the burden of leadership fell upon him, he found that he missed his friend and confidant more and more. Aragorn would not lie to himself. Great loves never die. Not really. Though he had sworn himself to another, he would take no slight to the Prince’s honor, even from one as respected as the Guardian of the Golden Wood. So lost was the Ranger in his thoughts that he did not realize that the March Warden was speaking once more. 

“I will take you to Caras Galadhon,” Haldir was saying, “so that you and your companions may stand in judgment before the Lord and the Lady. But I do so on the condition that you will allow me to pursue my interest with no interference on your part. I understand that the Prince, as well as the other members of your company, are under your protection, Dúnadan. Rest assured that whatever may pass between myself and the Prince will be mutual. I admit that my intentions are not pure, but I would never force anyone against their will.” 

For a while the Man said nothing, contemplating this prospect. The Guardian exuded an aura of self-confidence, leaving Aragorn no doubt that the Elf was used to getting his way. But Haldir’s original assessment had been correct, whether he knew it or not. Youthful and innocent the Prince may appear, but the Ranger knew that he was far from either. 

“Very well, Haldir,” Aragorn said at last. “If that is the price for our passage then I fear that it is you who has received the short end of our bargain. The Prince’s affection is not easily bought.” 

This challenge made the light in the Elf’s eyes burn a little brighter. 

“We shall see about that, Dúnadan,” he said in a low voice. “Perhaps the Prince has missed the company of the Eldar and the pleasures that only one of his kind can give.” Turning away and walking to where Frodo and the others waited, Haldir said commandingly, “You will follow me.” 

The Fellowship was then divided into two groups. The four Hobbits stayed in one talan with Haldir and his brothers, while Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli and Legolas slept in another. 

“Keep a close eye on the Dwarf,” Haldir had warned the Ranger and the Elf. “I will hold you both responsible for him.” 

Legolas nodded, swiftly climbing the silver rope that lead to the flet with Gimli muttering and grumbling behind him. Boromir then followed his two companions, but Aragorn paused and held the Guardian’s gaze, a final moment of understanding passing between them.

~*~*~*~

The night was not uneventful as a troop of Orcs passed beneath them, their foul steps marching in rhythm. Gimli and Boromir managed to take some rest, despite the Dwarf’s objections about sleeping in the trees. In the end, even he could not argue that they were safer in the boughs of the mallorns than they would be upon the ground. Safer, Aragorn reflected, was a matter of perspective. The trees did not so much provide protection as they did concealment. Orcs were great climbers, after all. Legolas seemed to be of the same mind and spent the night on watch. No word passed between Man and Elf. From his flet, the Guardian observed the two companions as they sat side by side in silence.

~*~*~*~

Morning came soon enough and with it the knowledge that Orophin had left during the night to warn the city of the passing Orcs. “They will not leave our borders,” Rúmil, the Guardian’s other brother told the Fellowship darkly.

After a quick breakfast, the company set off lead by Haldir with Rúmil bringing up the rear. For the most part, they walked without speaking, content to enjoy the wonders that the wood presented them. They made good time and it was not long before they reached the mighty Celebrant, flowing swift and strong through the Golden Wood. 

“There is no bridge!” Gimli exclaimed as the company stood by the bank. 

“The Dwarf has a talent for stating the obvious,” Haldir remarked dryly, giving Legolas a sideways wink. The Prince smiled, appreciating the joke, while Aragorn looked away. The seduction had begun. 

“This is how we cross,” Haldir said to the others, bringing out a coil of gray rope. He gave a low whistle and an Elf, similarly clad in Lórien gray, stepped out from a thicket of small trees on the other side of the river. Haldir skillfully cast the rope across the river and the other Elf caught it, securely tying it around a tree by the bank. 

“Follow me!” the Guardian called and the others, save Legolas, Aragorn and Rúmil, watched in amazement as the Elf lightly ran over the rope to the other side. 

“I can walk this path,” Legolas said, “but the others have not this skill. Must they swim?” 

“No,” Haldir answered. “We have two more ropes that we will tie above this one so that your companions may cross with care.” Then he cocked his head to the right, slipping into their native tongue as he said, “Unless you wish for the Dwarf to swim?” 

“Tempting though it may be,” Legolas answered in their language, laughing at the thought, “that will not be necessary.” Satisfied with the solution, the Prince nimbly leapt onto the rope and crossed it as swiftly and skillfully as the Guardian had done. 

From the other side, Aragorn watched Haldir as the Elf’s eyes, sparkling with that same glint from the day before, freely roamed the Prince’s body. He could almost see the wheels turning in the Guardian’s head as Legolas displayed his balance and agility, two skills that could be put to good use in other, more intimate, activities. 

When all of them had safely crossed the river, the slender bridge was dismantled. Two ropes were kept on the eastern shore, where the company now stood, while Rúmil untied the third rope and slung it over his shoulder. With a wave of his hand, the Elf disappeared into the trees. 

“My brother is returning to Nimrodel to complete his watch,” Haldir explained. “You have now entered the Naith of Lórien,” he said seriously. “Few strangers are permitted to set foot here, especially during these dangerous times. I must insist that the eyes of the Dwarf be bound. The others may walk freely for a while, but in time, I must bind your eyes as well. We do not divulge our secrets to foreigners.” 

“I will _not_ be blindfolded,” Gimli spat, greatly displeased by the proposition. “I am not your prisoner, nor am I a beggar to be lead by a rope through this forest!” 

“It is our law,” Haldir replied, drawing himself to his full height and towering over the Dwarf. “I cannot set it aside for _you_.” 

“Then I shall leave this cursed wood. Why should I stay if I am not treated with respect?” The Dwarf turned as if to walk away, but the Guardian’s words stopped him. 

“You cannot go back!” Haldir said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “There are sentinels on duty that would slay you before you even saw them. Nor would you be able to cross the river again. Nay, you have come this far and you must be judged before the Lord and the Lady. They will do with you as they see fit.” 

Gimli folded his arms and obstinately planted his feet on the ground. The tension in the air was palpable until the Dwarf spoke again. “If this is the way it must be,” he said slowly, “I will allow myself to be blindfolded only if you blindfold the Elf as well.” 

Haldir was taken aback by the request and he glanced at the Prince, who had become angry in his turn. 

“I am a kinsman here!” Legolas cried, offended by the suggestion. 

Fearing that the situation would escalate, Aragorn stepped forward and intervened. “We will _all_ be blindfolded,” he told Haldir. “Even you, Legolas,” he added, fixing the Elf with a firm look. “Come!” he said to the others. “If I am to lead this group, then you must do as I say. We are a Fellowship, and no one shall be singled out.” 

There were murmurs and nods of assent. The decision made, Haldir and the other Lórien Elf set about blindfolding the members of the Fellowship, when Gimli suddenly laughed out loud. 

“What a merry troop of fools we shall make!” he chuckled as his eyes were covered. “Marching single file and being led on a string like some traveling show.” 

Legolas was the last to be blindfolded and remained unhappy at the situation. He waited, head held high as Haldir stepped closer than was necessary to place the cloth over his eyes. The Prince inhaled the Guardian’s scent, rich and heady, so unlike his own. It made his skin tingle. 

“Your pout,” Haldir whispered into his ear, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive tip, “only serves to heighten your beauty. But I would much prefer to see you smile.” The Guardian’s insinuation was rewarded by the slow curving of the younger Elf’s sensuous lips. 

“It is a shame that you must be blindfolded while the sun shines and the weather is fair,” he continued, leisurely tying the cloth behind the Prince’s head, “but removing your sight heightens your other senses. Much pleasure may still be derived from a simple touch and the sounds around you.” 

While Haldir spoke, his companion passed a length of rope to each member of the Fellowship so that they became the merry troop that Gimli had so ably described. Legolas was the last to receive the rope and he held it in his right hand, waiting for Haldir to grasp the end. However, the Guardian had other plans and instead of taking the rope, he reached out and clasped the Prince’s free hand. Haldir watched Legolas’ face carefully for any kind of reaction, but there was none. Still, he noted with satisfaction, that the smile he had coaxed from the Prince remained on his lips. 

Thus the company continued their journey in this way, walking single-file connected by the long rope. Gimli had warned Haldir that he would seek amends for every stumble and stubbed toe, but the Dwarf’s concerns were soon laid to rest as the path proved to be smooth and unfettered. 

At the head of the line, two golden-haired Elves walked side by side. Haldir held Legolas’ hand as though it were a delicate bird; not so tightly that he would crush it, but not so loose that it would slip through his fingers. For this simple gesture reflected the art of seduction to the Guardian. It was a means to keep his prey close, while at the same time not suffocating or frightening it. Every now and then, he would brush his fingers against the Prince’s knuckles or draw soothing circles at the back of the Elf's hand. He teased and tantalized until Legolas responded, and two ivory hands were engaged in their private erotic dance.

The company walked for the rest of the day, until the evening breeze began to whisper in the trees. They encountered a host of Elves from the city, who were on their way to protect the northern borders in case of an attack from Moria. They bore a message from the Lord and the Lady, which said that the Fellowship was to be able to walk freely, including the Dwarf. The blindfolds were removed and Haldir bowed low before them. 

“Your pardon,” he said sincerely. “Look upon us now with friendly eyes,” he added, purposely directing his gaze to the Mirkwood Prince. Legolas nodded imperceptibly, blue eyes shining as he accepted this apology. 

“You have come to Cerin Amroth,” the Guardian continued, sweeping an arm before him. “Here we shall rest a while and arrive at the city of the Galadhrim by dusk.” 

The Ranger went to the March Warden as the others sat or lay down in the field. “Our passage has been granted by the Lord and the Lady,” he said quietly. “I see no reason why we must keep to the bargain that was made yesterday eve.” 

“Is that so?” Haldir said, amusement in his eyes. “Ever the protector, Dúnadan. You need not concern yourself. I shall take _very_ good care of the Prince.” The Elf turned around and left before the Man could reply, setting his sights on his prey who stood a few feet away. 

Legolas was delighted to be in open space and free of the confines of his blindfold. He felt the rich, lush grass beneath his feet and admired the star-shaped golden flowers that studded the sward. Contented, he reached down and brushed a pale white flower as it blew on its slender stalk. 

“That is the niphredil,” Haldir said as he approached the Prince. “And the golden one is called–”

“Elanor,” Legolas supplied, drawing himself up so that he could look into the Guardian’s eyes. They were standing as close as they had been when the March Warden had tied his blindfold. 

Haldir resisted the urge to bend down and kiss those soft lips. It was too soon. Instead he tore his gaze away, saying, “Would you climb with me up Cerin Amroth?” 

Wordlessly, Legolas nodded and the two Elves walked to the mound of Amroth, where the house of the Elven Prince had been built in ages past. Upon the mound grew a double crown of trees. They passed through the outer circle, whose trees had a bark of snowy white, and then into the inner circle of great mallorns arrayed in gold. At the center of the mound stood the tallest of all the trees and amid its branches was a gleaming, white flet. Grasping the gray rope ladder, Legolas climbed it, emerging onto the white talan and a breathtaking view. Instinctively, the Prince looked to the south, where he knew that the city of the Galadhrim lay. He saw clearly a hill of mighty trees, out of which a light and power seemed to emanate that held all the land in sway. Looking to the east, he followed the land of Lórien as it ran along the river Anduin until his gaze rested upon Southern Mirkwood, where darkness was tangible to his keen eyes. 

The Prince felt the Guardian stand behind him, the Elf’s rich scent and warm presence that threatened to touch a part of him that he had closed off years ago. Tis nothing but a physical reaction, he reprimanded himself harshly. You have been away from your people for too long. Why should you deny your body’s desires? 

“The Dol Guldur has been rebuilt,” he said aloud in an effort to drive these unsettling thoughts away. “Its shadow grows long over my father’s realm.” 

“Your people are fine warriors,” Haldir said softly. “For centuries have they kept the Enemy at bay. Your father will not let evil overrun his land.” The Guardian noticed that the younger Elf stiffened slightly at the reference to his father, and he filed this knowledge away for future use. 

“My father is proud and willful,” the Prince replied with a note of bitterness in his voice. “But he has always had the best interests of his people at heart.” 

“As all good rulers do,” Haldir answered, brushing a stray lock of hair behind the Prince’s ear. 

Legolas turned around at the touch and the Guardian once again found himself mesmerized by those shining blue eyes. Did they turn indigo when they were lit with the flames of passion? He would find out. But not yet, he reminded himself. The game had only begun. 

The Prince seemed to be studying him, and for a moment, Haldir wondered if the younger Elf could read the desire in his eyes. He was left wondering as Legolas broke the spell to look down at someone who had attracted his interest in the field below them. 

Peering over the Elf’s shoulder, Haldir spied the Ranger standing apart with a golden elanor flower in his hand, oblivious to the goings-on of the others. 

“He is lost in his own reverie,” the Guardian commented. 

“That he is,” the Prince agreed, “for this place holds great meaning for him.” 

Haldir waited patiently for the Prince to elaborate. Legolas’s voice became cool and distant as he said, “This is where he pledge his troth to the one who holds his heart.” 

“And do you have such a place for the one who holds your heart?” the Guardian whispered, warm breath against the Prince’s mask of ice. 

“I give my heart to no one,” was the cold reply.

~*~*~*~

The city of the Galadhrim was unlike any city the Fellowship had ever seen before. Haldir had described Caras Galadhon as “the heart of Elvendom on earth,” and no one thought to disagree. Lit with myriad lanterns that hung from the boughs of the great trees, the company walked along many staircases and passageways to be presented before the Lord and the Lady, whose piercing gaze read each of their hearts in turn.

Now the Fellowship gathered in the pavilion that had been laid out for them by the Elves, the Hobbits and the Dwarf very much relieved to be sleeping on the ground. Though the journey had been long, the travelers stayed up for a little while discussing the day’s events. Eventually, their conversation touched upon the Lord and the Lady of the Golden Wood. Each was curious to know what the Lady Galadriel had said to the others as she held their gaze, but none would tell. For to do so would be to reveal their heart’s deepest desire, and it took great strength to face such a harsh truth. Their strength was yet to be replenished during this time of grief. 

Legolas sat and listened to his companions speak, but participated little in their discussion. He was content to remain a passive observer, while the haunting voices of the Galadhrim filled the night air. 

“It is a lament for Gandalf,” he heard himself whisper, though he declined to translate the words of the song. 

The conversation continued and the Elf found his attention drawn more and more to the Dwarf, whom he was starting to look upon with new eyes. Gimli had changed since meeting the Lady Galadriel. The others did not see it, but Legolas knew. It had happened the moment the Lady had looked kindly upon the Dwarf, speaking of the glory of the ancient city of Dwarrowdelf. Gimli had feared falling under the enchantment of the Lady of the Wood – the Elf-Witch he had called her – and rightly so. When he had heard the names of the places that he cherished spoken in his own tongue, he had looked into her radiant face and saw not an enemy, but a being of immense wisdom and compassion. Indeed, the Lady's spell had been cast and Legolas knew that the Dwarf was willingly enthralled. It was this stout but brave member of the Fellowship that the Prince understood the least. That would have to change. 

The Elf put these good intentions aside for the moment. Tonight his heart was heavy, not only with grief for Gandalf’s loss, but also with the words that the Lady Galadriel had addressed to him alone. She had seen through the bitterness he had tried to hide and gently rebuked him for it. She knew that the love and friendship of a youth called Estel had forever changed the Prince’s life; that the ending of their relationship had lead to much sadness and despair; that the Prince had drawn strength from his wounds and hardened his heart to those who would offer him love and comfort. She understood why he had turned to combat to exorcise his demons, mastering any weapon that was placed in his hand, though his love for the bow and arrow dominated all his other skills. 

“You have come far, son of Thranduil,” she had said, “but the road before you is longer still. You will need his strength, as he will need yours. Strength comes from within, but sometimes, true strength reveals itself in one’s weaknesses and in knowing in whom to place your trust. He loves you still, though you may not believe it. Do not abandon him now.” 

Legolas had been too stunned to react in front of the Lady, his mind swimming with the implications of her words. Now that he had dwelt upon the matter, anger and old pain flared inside him. _He_ was the one who had been abandoned those thirty odd years ago. How could strength come from weakness? What madness had put him on this quest that he should walk by his former lover’s side, the distance between them like a never-healing wound? 

The Prince had been chosen by Lord Elrond to represent the race of the Elves on this quest – a great honor. Yet, he remembered that Elrond had placed no oath or bond on any member of the Fellowship, save for the Ringbearer whose quest this was, to go no further than they chose. The closer the company came to Mount Doom, the harder it would be to turn away. But there was still time. Legolas had only been sent to Rivendell to deliver the unfortunate tidings of Gollum’s escape, and as darkness continued to infest the land, the image of the Dol Guldur continued to burn in his mind’s eye. It made the Prince wonder, was his place not with his people and by his father’s side? 

As these thoughts continued to occupy the Elf, he did not notice that the others were already preparing for bed. It was not until the Dwarf began snoring did the Prince become aware of his surroundings. As his friends slept, Legolas stood up silently and left the pavilion.

~*~*~*~

When Aragorn awoke it was still night and he knew instinctively that the Elf was not among them. Limbs protesting at being disturbed from their much-deserved rest, the Man got up and tread his way through his sleeping companions.

The city was eerily quiet as the Ranger stood by the edge of the field where their pavilion had been built. Time for a smoke, the Man decided, taking out his travel pipe and a bit of weed. After the pipe was lit, Aragorn stood and smoked, contemplating what he was doing there. Did he mean to search for the Elf? He did not have the faintest idea where Legolas could have gone. But his feet began to walk of their own accord, leading him to a destination that eluded his mind. 

After some time, he heard the sound of voices talking and laughing, their lovely melodic lilt breaking the stillness of the night. Aragorn recognized one of them instantly, and the second he had grown familiar with in a short space of time. The Ranger emerged into a small clearing and saw to his right, two golden-haired Elves sitting cross-legged at the base of an ancient tree. Legolas was leaning against the mallorn’s broad trunk, while Haldir relaxed against a giant root to the Prince’s left. The Man observed two bottles of fey wine between them, one already empty and the other almost finished. Legolas held up a hand to greet him, while Haldir took a sip from his goblet, turning his head to the side to see who this newcomer was. 

“Aragorn!” the Prince called. “Come and join us.” 

The Man accepted, noticing how the Prince’s cheeks flushed a becoming rosy shade from the effects of the wine. His manner was unrestrained, his laughter light and tinkling. It was a marked contrast to the serious and reserved conduct the Elf maintained around the Fellowship. Indeed, it was the friendliest greeting Aragorn had received from the Prince in many a year, and for a moment he feared that he had underestimated Haldir’s skill in this arena, and perhaps Legolas’ own resolve. What they do is none of your affair, he reminded himself, but another part of him refused to believe this rationalization. 

He sat down on the other side of the Prince, opposite the Guardian, who flashed him a silky smile. Almost a challenge, the Man thought. 

“I’m afraid we only have two goblets,” Legolas said with some dismay, oblivious to the tension that had arisen between his two companions. With a casual shrug, he poured the remaining wine into his goblet and passed it to the Ranger. “Drink from mine,” he offered. 

Aragorn nodded his thanks, taking a sip of the red wine. It had a rich berry taste, laced with a touch of spice. An unusual, potent combination, but delicious nonetheless. The Man took a deeper draught, savoring the strong liquid as it warmed his throat. 

“Is the wine to your liking?” the Guardian asked him. 

“It is unlike any fey wine that I have ever tasted,” the Man answered truthfully. 

“That is because it is Haldir's own brew,” the Prince said conspiratorially, placing his hand on the other Elf’s knee. 

Aragorn watched the two Elves and realized with some surprise that Legolas was drunk. The Prince had always been able to hold his liquor. Was _this_ part of Haldir’s plan? He glanced sharply at the Guardian, suddenly suspicious of this homemade brew. 

Haldir was silently laughing. The Ranger could see it in the Elf’s eyes. As if I would need to inebriate the Prince to have my way, they seemed to be saying, allaying the Ranger’s concerns. A drunk Legolas would be a willing Legolas, but that was not the type of conquest the Guardian desired. 

“Then Haldir is not only skilled but generous in sharing this with you,” Aragorn said. 

“With both of you,” the Guardian corrected. “‘Tis a pity that you did not come sooner, Dúnadan.” 

“Yes, it is a shame,” Aragorn agreed. “I’m sure the conversation would have been stimulating.” 

“It has been most stimulating,” Legolas said innocently. “Haldir is fine company, Aragorn. I suspect that you two would get along quite well.” 

The March Warden could not suppress a laugh. “What makes you say that?” 

“You are very similar,” the Prince replied, but would not elaborate further. He lapsed into silence, absently taking the goblet from the Ranger and sipping the wine. 

“Well,” Aragorn said after a while, “I had best be heading back.” 

“But you have just arrived,” Haldir chastised. 

“That may be so,” the Man said, “but my body is telling me that it needs more rest. Long has it been since our company has been able to sleep within such well-protected borders.” He then turned to Legolas, who was still lost in his own thoughts and said, “Will you not be retiring soon?” 

“Yes,” the Prince said. “Haldir has offered me his quarters for the duration of our stay.” 

Aragorn looked to the other Elf for confirmation and the Guardian nodded. A bold move, the Ranger thought, but hardly subtle. He had expected more from Haldir. Somehow this did not fit his image of the cunning Elf. 

“When will you be returning to the northern border?” the Prince was asking their host. 

“Tomorrow morning.” 

“So soon?” A note of disappointment. 

“I’m afraid so.” 

“It is a shame that we only have this night.” 

“The night is not over yet.” 

Legolas did not say anything, but a thoughtful expression was on his face. Haldir’s offer hung heavy in the air. The two Elves appeared to have forgotten the Ranger’s presence, and Aragorn believed that now would be the best time to remind them. 

“The Fellowship would be sorely disappointed to know that you did not spend the first night in Caras Galadhon with them,” he told the Prince. “They would miss your company tomorrow morning, Legolas.” 

Legolas looked to his right where the Ranger sat, the familiar mask now back in place. Then he turned to Haldir. “Aragorn is right,” he said. “I feel that it is my duty to stay with the Fellowship on this first night.” 

“Of course, you must do what you think is best,” the Guardian said graciously. “The offer to stay in my quarters while I am away is still open,” he added. “My quarters are humble, but if you seek a place of solitude, where you will not be disturbed, then there you may find some peace of mind.” 

“I accept your offer,” Legolas said without hesitation, flashing the Guardian one of his most alluring smiles. “We shall have other nights, Haldir.” 

The older Elf nodded with his own smile. “I look forward to them.” 

The Guardian then gathered the two empty wine bottles, together with the two goblets and stood up. “It is time I also retired,” he announced and with a small bow, he left the clearing, humming a little tune. 

Aragorn and Legolas sat by the tree a while longer, the Elf twirling a pale niphredil in his hand. “Shall we go?” he asked suddenly, startling the Man. 

“Yes,” Aragorn agreed, standing up. “Do you need help?” The Prince was loath to accept assistance, but the Ranger was not sure if the Elf would be able to return to the pavilion unaided.

“No,” Legolas replied, a little curtly. “I am fine.” 

Then, to the Man’s surprise, the Prince stood up without any difficulty, brushing his clothes off as he did so. His movements were quick and precise, his eyes clear and focused, as if he had not just polished off a bottle of wine. 

The Elf smiled slightly to see the look of amazement on the Man’s face. “You did not seriously believe me to be drunk?” Then he laughed, leaning towards the Man as he said, “Really, Aragorn. I would have thought that you knew me better than that.” 

“It is difficult to say these days,” the Ranger answered, “when you act like a stranger toward me.” 

The Elf drew back as though wounded by the Man’s words. His face hardened and he turned away, walking back to the pavilion without waiting for the Ranger, but the Man’s long strides soon caught up with him and they walked together in silence. 

Silence, Legolas reflected, had become the norm between them. It was not the silence born of peace and contentment, nor the silence derived from long years of companionship. It was the silence of unfinished matters, of bitterness and heartache. Was he the only one who grieved for what had been lost? 

“Why did you accept Haldir’s offer to stay in his quarters?” Aragorn asked, interrupting the Prince’s thoughts. “Have you grown so tired of our company?” 

The Elf seemed reluctant to answer, finally saying, “The journey has been hard. I need this time to myself. To think. To find my peace of mind as Haldir said.” He stopped suddenly and grabbed Aragorn’s arm. “You can understand that, can’t you?” 

“Yes, Legolas. I can.” 

The Elf looked so vulnerable at that moment. So young and lost. There was so much Aragorn wished to say, but he did not know where to begin. No words would come. 

The moment passed and the Man watched with wonder as a shroud seemed to fall over Legolas’ face and he released Aragorn’s arm. The note of urgency disappeared from his voice, returning to its measured calm as he spoke, “I will still spend time with the Fellowship, of course, and take my meals with them. I have grown fond of their company, particularly of the Halflings.” 

They resumed walking and no more was said. When they reached the clearing where the pavilion was laid out, Aragorn stopped and told the Elf, “You are attracted to him.” 

The words froze the Prince, and he slowly turned around to face the Man who still stood in the shadows of the trees. He knew of whom the Ranger spoke. 

“His intentions are not pure, Legolas.” 

“And you think mine are?” 

The Ranger did not respond and the Elf took a step closer to him. “I did not lie when I said that the two of you are similar,” he whispered. “There is nobility beneath Haldir’s façade.” He reached out, running his hand along the Man's face, until he cupped Aragorn's chin beneath his fingers. 

“You would barter me in exchange for passage through Lórien.” 

Aragorn tried to shake his head in protest, but the Elf’s firm grip held him still.

“You were right to think that my affection is not so easily bought,” he continued. “I shall enjoy this challenge that you have presented me with, and I think that you know well enough my skill in this arena.” 

With these words, the Prince released him and the Man was left standing amidst the trees as the Elf strolled towards their sleeping companions. He closed his eyes and let the cool night air envelope him. How had it come to this? he wondered. How would the game play out now that Legolas knew?


	2. The Game

Haldir left the following morning, but not before showing Legolas around his quarters, which were not far from the pavilion. If one stood on the little balcony outside the Guardian’s chamber, one could easily see the white tent of the pavilion where the Fellowship stayed. 

Legolas immediately felt at home within the sparsely furnished chamber, and he knew that his decision to stay here had been the right one. The furnishings consisted of a large bed and bedside table, another small table with two chairs, a writing desk and chair, a small bookcase and a chest of drawers, on top of which were a silver basin and a jar of water. The Prince ran his hand appreciatively over the ornate carvings of the desk, an amused smile on his lips. He could hardly imagine Haldir sitting here writing reports. 

On one wall hung several ceremonial weapons: a bow, two swords, two long knives and a dagger. However, what caught Legolas’ attention the most was a magnificent harp that stood in one corner of the room. The morning sunshine, which streamed from a nearby window, highlighted its burnished, gold hue. Enchanted, Legolas went to it. 

“Do you play?” the Guardian asked. 

“I have not played in many a season,” the Prince admitted. “Not since my love for the bow and arrow surpassed all else. I have forgotten much.” 

“Now would be a good time to remember then,” Haldir encouraged, gently placing a hand on the younger Elf’s shoulder. 

Afterward, Legolas walked Haldir to the city gates, where the Guardian met a small group of Elves who had also been assigned to the northern border and there they bid each other farewell. 

“I do not know when I shall be returning,” Haldir said, “but I hope that it will be before your company departs.” 

“I am certain of it,” the Prince replied. “For who will be our guide when we must travel to the river’s shores?” 

“Lórien has many skilled guides,” the Guardian answered, attempting to bait the Prince. 

“But there is only one guide that I favor,” Legolas whispered, leaning forward and brushing his lips against Haldir’s cheek.   
The Prince smiled as he pulled away, and for a split second, the Guardian thought he saw something in the younger Elf’s eyes that he had not seen there before. A cool detachment, the gleam of a predator reflected in himself. It had just been an instant. Legolas smiled now, warmth and sincerity radiating from him, and Haldir could not help but smile in return. The Mirkwood Prince was a prize indeed and the Guardian would have him. Patience would only make the prize all the sweeter.

~*~*~*~

Legolas remained true to his word, taking all his meals with the Fellowship and spending additional time with the Halflings. Frodo and Sam often went off by themselves, but Merry and Pippin both had an insatiable curiosity, particularly Pippin, who bombarded the Elf with an endless series of questions, some of great importance, others of spectacular triviality. Legolas answered each question patiently and with an equal amount of gravitas, whether he was discussing complicated Elven bloodlines, or how he managed to keep his hair immaculately tangle free, which Frodo had overheard him explain one day and had promptly sent the Ringbearer into a fit of giggles. 

The Hobbits asked Legolas to give them a tour of Caras Galadhon, even though the Prince was new to the city himself. In the end, Legolas roped one of the Galadhrim, who was quite taken by the woodland Prince, to give the Halflings their much-desired tour. Legolas accompanied them, as he also wished to become more familiar with the city, and out of concern for the pretty handmaiden of the Lady Galadriel who was to be their guide. He worried that the four Hobbits might be too much for her to handle, especially since she was unused to speaking in the Common Tongue. For her part, the handmaiden was overjoyed to have the visiting Prince by her side and left all the translation duties to him. 

With the exception of this special tour, the Galadhrim kept mostly to themselves. Sam pointed this out one day and asked Legolas if there was a reason for it. 

“The Galadhrim have always been a private people, as is the custom among my race,” Legolas answered. “But in this instance, there is also the matter of language.” 

“Language?” Sam questioned. 

“Yes. Few of the Galadhrim have any dealings with the world beyond their wood,” the Prince explained. “Many cannot speak the Common Tongue, and those who are familiar with it have doubtless not used the language in centuries.” 

Sam nodded in understanding. Smitten by anything Elvish, the Hobbit decided to use this time to bridge the communication gap. Perhaps Mr. Frodo would help him, was the hopeful thought that entered his mind. 

Frodo, who had been lying on his bed listening to the conversation, asked the Elf, “Is it the same in Mirkwood?” 

“To some extent,” Legolas replied. “We speak our own language, as well as lesser known Silvan dialects, when we are amongst ourselves. However, we have always had dealings with the men of Laketown and much trade passes along the Old Forest Road. In that respect, Westron has remained alive and well among my people.” 

“I should like to visit your wood one day,” Frodo murmured sleepily, closing his eyes for an afternoon nap. 

“Then perhaps you shall,” Legolas whispered comfortingly. 

The Elf was beginning to doubt that such a day would come, knowing that the fate of all Middle-Earth depended upon their quest. But he would not let his doubt poison the Ringbearer. His fears were held at bay in fair Lothlórien, where beauty and goodness remained undiminished. 

Whilst the Galadhrim preferred to keep to themselves, they eagerly welcomed the Prince’s company and Legolas often went with them on their short journeys and excursions. The Fellowship did not take offense at this, believing it only natural that the Elf would want to spend time with his kin. There was only one member of the company who believed that there could be another reason, but of course, he did not voice it. Lothlórien also brought peace of mind to the exiled King, but it left him with a restless heart. He took comfort in the knowledge that at the very least, Haldir was still on patrol along the northern border. 

On the fourth day of their stay, something unexpected happened after breakfast. Legolas, who usually disappeared after meals, stood up and politely excused himself. Then, almost as an afterthought, the Elf looked in the Dwarf’s direction and said, “Master Dwarf, I shall be visiting a rock spring today, one that the Galadhrim say leads to some interesting, albeit small, underground caves. Would you like to accompany me?” 

The Fellowship exchanged surprised glances and there were raised eyebrows. No one was more surprised than Gimli, who stared at the Prince as though Legolas had grown two heads. But he recovered quickly and gave a small cough, an attempt to gather his wits before replying. 

“A rock spring and caves, you say?” Gimli repeated. “Well, I suppose I could do with a wee bit of exercise.” He nodded his head, as though to reaffirm his decision. “Very well, Master Elf. I shall accompany you on this little excursion.” 

Legolas seemed pleased with the Dwarf’s decision. “Then I shall meet you here in half an hour. Is that satisfactory?” 

“What is satisfactory for an Elf is more than satisfactory for a Dwarf,” Gimli replied, causing the company to exchange amused looks once more. It would be a long morning for their two friends. 

A long morning it proved to be, but an enjoyable one as well. So enjoyable that the Elf and the Dwarf began spending time together on a regular basis. Though Gimli constantly complained that Dwarves were not built for long treks, nor the many staircases and pathways of Caras Galadhon that did not stop him from accompanying Legolas on his numerous trips. For his part, Legolas made the pace of their walks manageable for his stout companion, often stopping for short breaks along the way.   
Like two opposing forces inexplicably drawn together, the Elf and the Dwarf were slowly beginning to understand one another, to look beyond the misconceptions of one another’s races. At the very least, to appreciate each other’s differences. Where once Legolas had believed that Dwarves were greedy creatures – digging, hoarding, taking from the earth and not giving anything in return – he saw now that they were great lovers of beauty and purity. There was nothing that the Dwarves fashioned that was not beautiful. He now paid attention to the angular patterns on Gimli’s helmet, to the smooth, clean lines of his axe. He remembered the endless, magnificent halls of Dwarrowdelf and he listened with fascination to Gimli’s tales of old. However, what endeared him most about his newfound friend, though he would never admit it, not even on pain of death, was Gimli’s quick wit and dry sense of humor. The Dwarf was stubborn to a fault, but then again, the Elf reasoned, the same could probably be said about him. 

Indeed, Gimli was thinking the very same thing about his hardheaded companion. It was one of the numerous faults that he had grown exceedingly fond of in the Elf. While Dwarves found beauty in their craftsmanship, Gimli realized that the Elves themselves epitomized beauty. They were called the Firstborn and it was easy to see why. He was mesmerized by their natural grace and lulled by their melodic voices. Their manner, which he once would have described as proud and aloof, he now saw as noble and serene, a way of life that had been cultivated over countless centuries. While the Dwarf would never quite be able to understand the Elf’s attachment to trees, nor his predilection for bathing, he did come to appreciate that Elves were one with nature, bound to the very song of life. As Legolas sat and communed with the great mallorns, Gimli would bow his head before their majesty and find his own kind of peace. 

So it was that Legolas’s days began to fall into a pattern. He would dine with the Fellowship and entertain the Hobbits, spend his mornings with the Dwarf and the afternoons with the Galadhrim. It was only the nights that the Prince had to himself and he often took to wandering alone. Gimli complained that he became brooding and pensive when night fell, taking this as a clear sign that the Elf desired some privacy. Legolas cherished these moments of solitude, when he sought to find his peace of mind. But no peace would come to him. Not while he waited for something to happen, not while he waited for someone to return.

~*~*~*~

It was past midnight when Haldir crossed the great gates of Caras Galadhon. Most of the Elves who had been stationed at the northern border at the same time as the Guardian had decided to stay there an extra night, deeming the hour too late to return to the city. However, Haldir was eager to return home, and together with a few Elves who had their own reasons for wishing to return immediately, had left the border at dusk. When they reached the main field, the Elves went their separate ways with parting nods and quiet words. The Guardian conveniently passed by the pavilion, his eyes searching for something that he was hoping to find. A smile spread across his face when he saw the empty bed space. He knew who would be waiting for him in his chamber and the Elf quickened his steps. 

When Haldir reached the short path that lead to his quarters, he stopped. He felt flustered, though he could not explain why. Anticipation, he reasoned. It has been twelve days since you saw him last and your body has ached for his presence, his nearness. Strange, how this young Elf has managed to possess you so. Patience, the Guardian reminded himself. The attraction is not one-sided. Let him come to you.

Silently, he pushed opened the unlocked door and stepped inside. The fresh, spring scent of cool morning dew invaded his senses and he inhaled deeply. The smell of Legolas. What bliss it would be to wake up to this every morning, he mused. The room was bathed in moonlight from the open window on the far side. Haldir scanned the chamber, noting how a bow and quiver rested on top of the small table, together with one of the Elf's long blades. It would not have surprised the Guardian in the least to know that the Prince slept with the other blade beneath his pillow. He slipped off his pack and together with his weapons, left them by the door. Then his eyes fell on the large bed and the sleeping figure upon it. Legolas lay on his side, facing the center of the bed. He wore a thin, white nightshirt made of a transparent gauze fabric, the lacings conveniently untied. He occupied only half the bed, as though waiting for Haldir to return. 

Haldir undressed quietly until he stood by the bed wearing only his leggings. His eyes never left the Prince as he allowed the night air to cool his heated flesh. Legolas was so peaceful in repose; free from the confines of the daily masks that he wore. Lust fled from the Guardian’s body as awareness of this privileged moment sunk in. How many others had seen the Prince with his defenses laid bare? Was Aragorn one of them? Disconcerted by this unbidden thought, Haldir lifted the white cover and slid in between the sheets so that he lay facing the other Elf. Midnight blue eyes gazed back at him, unfocused and distant. Legolas was sound asleep. 

The Guardian wanted to reach out and brush his fingers against the soft skin; place gentle kisses on the golden brow. He did neither. Instead, a wave of desire washed over him, more powerful than the lust that had heated his loins. It was the desire to protect, to comfort, to love. Yes, he thought. He could love this creature before him, but would Legolas love him in return?

 _I give my heart to no one._

Haldir almost laughed aloud at his naive musings. Love? What a foolish flight of fancy. It was unlike him to fall prey to such mawkish sentiments. What he felt for the Elf was a physical attraction, a base desire, and one that Legolas succinctly appeared to return. There could be nothing more. Love was never part of the game and it would remain that way.

~*~*~*~

Sunlight streamed through the window many hours later. Haldir felt a breeze brush by his cheek as he awoke. He knew that the hour was late, much later than he usually arose, but even Guardians were allowed late mornings, especially ones who had been stationed at the border for nearly two weeks. Familiar surroundings came into view as his morning drowsiness fell away. There was a fresh, spring scent enveloping him, the welcome smell trying to remind him of something terribly important that he'd forgotten. He knew what it was the moment his eyes focused on another pair of clear blue that gazed back at him. The Guardian had the distinct feeling that the Prince had been watching him sleep for some time. 

“Good morning,” Legolas greeted him. 

“You mean it is still morning?” Haldir chided. 

“Only just,” the Prince laughed. 

Haldir laughed with him. “Is this your normal rising hour, Prince Legolas?” he inquired lightly.

“If I wish my father to chase me out of bed with his scepter,” the Elf jested. 

“It is fortunate then that no one shall chase you out of bed in Lórien. Least of all, the Lord and the Lady.” 

The image of the two stoic Elven nobles running the Prince out of bed made them laugh again. As their laughter died away, Haldir asked seriously, “Why have you not gotten out of bed yet? Surely you have been missed by your companions?” 

“I did not wish to disturb you,” the Prince answered simply. “You were so peaceful at rest.” 

Much like you were last night, the Guardian thought. Instead he said, “Then we are of a like mind. I feared that I would disturb you last night when I returned. For a moment, I contemplated sleeping on the floor, but after two weeks spent on a wooden talan, the comfort of my own bed was too much to resist.” 

“Your fears were for naught,” Legolas replied, “for I slept as soundly as I have since staying here. Furthermore, I do not see why you should have resisted the comfort of your own bed when it is, after all, your _own_ bed.” 

“It may be my bed,” Haldir said in return, “but I have offered it to _you_.” 

The Prince smiled at this double entendre. “For that I am grateful,” he said. “But it is a rather large bed,” he went on. “There is more than enough room for us to share.” 

Now would have been the perfect moment for the Guardian to lean forward and steal a kiss from those sweet lips, but something stopped him. A glimmer. A hint of the same cool detachment he thought he had glimpsed the morning he had left the city. However, he had not been sure then, how could he be sure now? The moment seemed to be replaying itself as Legolas disarmed him with an enchanting smile, golden hair spilling over the Elf’s shoulder and crowning his face. Realizing that there was more to this young Elf than perhaps he had bargained for, the Guardian reached over and ran his fingers down the flaxen mane until he held a lock of the Prince’s hair in his hand. 

“I am glad you feel that way,” he said, “and that we have come to an agreement regarding our sleeping arrangements.”

Haldir said these last two words with a hint of more to come, and then smoothly slipped out of bed. He could feel the Prince’s eyes on him as he found one of his robes and with a final smile at his guest, he left the chamber to bathe.

~*~*~*~

The news of Haldir’s return quickly reached the Fellowship, who attributed Legolas’s disappearance that day to this event. The company assumed that a bond of deep friendship had formed between the two Elves, despite their short acquaintance, for why else would Legolas feel comfortable enough to stay in the Guardian’s quarters? They were happy for their Elven companion, save for one, whose mood darkened at the Prince’s absence. If Aragorn had been pressed to explain his change in temperament, the Man would have found himself at a loss for words. He could not make sense of the feelings warring inside him. Was it concern for the Prince’s well-being or jealousy that spurned him on? 

With the exception of this first day, Haldir easily slipped into the Prince’s routine. The Guardian often ate with the Fellowship and was curious to get to know these strange beings called Halflings. He soon discovered that the Hobbits were delightful company, particularly the youngest one, who was excited to have “another Elf at his disposal,” as Pippin called it. The Guardian was considerably more miffed at the fast friendship that had developed between the Prince and the Dwarf, but he deigned not to comment. Gimli had mellowed since their last encounter, looking upon the Elves with a new sense of respect, and the Galadhrim had accorded the same respect to him in return. The Dwarf did not mind that the Guardian now joined them in their morning excursions. 

Haldir enjoyed Legolas’s company more and more with each passing day, and he nurtured the blossoming friendship between them. He often wondered if this was the right approach. His original goal seemed distant and unimportant when he was around the younger Elf. He wished to earn the Prince’s trust and affection, but as the friendship deepened, the idea of betraying the Prince repulsed him. Was a lasting friendship with this rarest of blessed creatures infinitely more important than a single bedroom conquest? If he were to rationalize his predicament, did he not have the Prince in his bed every night? This thought put a bittersweet smile on his face. 

One day as the two Elves rested amid the branches of an ancient mallorn, Legolas looked down at the Guardian and said, “I value friendship above all else.” 

Haldir glanced upwards and arched an eyebrow, careful to hide his surprise at this sudden statement. “Above all else?” he repeated questioningly. 

A slight blush tinted the Prince’s cheeks at his own bold opinion. “I love my family dearly,” he began, “but I speak of relationships outside that of familial ties. Each relationship brings with it its own . . . intricacies.” Legolas paused so that he may choose his words with care. “Lovers may come and go, sewing their seeds and leaving their scars. But friends, carefully chosen and nurtured, are like firm rocks upon which our lives ebb and flow with the tide, always secure in the knowledge that our foundations will not falter. Do you see what I mean, Haldir?” 

“I am not certain,” the Guardian replied. “Do you mean to say that friends cannot be lovers?” 

The blush in the other Elf’s cheeks deepened, but he spoke with conviction. “Not necessarily,” he answered. “If that line were to be crossed, it should not be done so lightly. Friends may also be lovers, but only if certain conditions are maintained, and should the physical attraction fade, it is the friendship that must burn ever brighter.” 

_Do you wish to become lovers?_ Haldir wanted to ask. He wondered what those conditions would be now that the door appeared to be open to him. 

“I do not cross that line anymore,” Legolas suddenly said, firmly closing the door with these words. “I have found the price to be too high and that is why I value friendship above all else.”

~*~*~*~

Haldir respected Legolas’s wish, realizing that they had fallen too deeply into the friendship pattern for him to take advantage of the Prince now. He did not regret the path that he had chosen, and he wondered with an ironic smile what the Ranger would say if he knew that the Guardian’s nobility had won over his more base desires. Still, nobility did not prevent the sexual tension from rising whenever he was around the Prince. Never before had the March Warden been so grateful for his complete control over his body, lest it betray his desire. Discreet brushes of hand and leg, the warmth of a palm against the small of his back, a chin lightly resting on his shoulder – these simple touches sent bolts of lightning through him, but Legolas remained completely unaffected. The attraction had become one-sided, leading the Guardian to wonder if it had ever been there at all. Perhaps he had imagined it to give legitimacy to his own pursuit. Strange how the seduction had ended before it had even begun. He understood now how the physical flame had faded for Legolas to be replaced by this need for a lasting friendship. Would things have played out differently if he had not left that morning three weeks ago? If he had been able to maintain the electricity between them? Perhaps. He would never know. 

As noble as his intentions had become, they did not prevent the Prince from invading his dreams at night. Sometimes he awoke with a start, breathing heavily, his body covered with a sheen of sweat. He would look to his right at the Prince’s resting figure, thankful that Legolas slept with his back to the Guardian. Images of blond hair tangled in his fingers, of velvet skin pressed against his own and that lithe form writhing beneath him were still fresh in his mind. Legolas had become both a blessing and a curse to him, a valuable friendship poisoned by unfulfilled desire. 

One night, Haldir awoke with a throbbing ache in between his legs. Aroused to full hardness, he knew that he could not go back to sleep in this state. Stiffly, he stood up and reached for the silk robe that lay near him. He wrapped it around himself and silently padded outside. The autumn air cooled his tingling skin as he leaned heavily against the balcony rail. He knew that his legs would not support him for long. Defeated by his desire, he slumped to the floor, resting his forehead against the wooden rail. One hand gripped the carved rail by his side, while the other began to undo the tie around his robe. Why did he have to tie it so tightly? 

Distracted, the Guardian did not notice that someone had joined him until he felt a warm body pressed against his back and long legs wrapped around his. He stiffened, the knot of his robe loosened but still untied, his grip on the wooden rail turning his knuckles white.

“Why are you outside at this hour?” Legolas asked. 

“The air is freshest in the middle of the night,” Haldir replied, inwardly groaning at this pathetic response. Apparently, unspent desire slowed the wit as well. 

“So it is,” Legolas answered, inhaling deeply and playing along. “But I think you are here for another reason,” he said after a while. 

The Guardian sighed. “And what would that be?” 

“Tension. You need to relieve your tension.” Legolas placed his hands on the Guardian’s shoulders, kneading them slowly. “So many knots, Haldir,” he scolded lightly. “What could be the cause of such stress?” 

“What indeed?” Haldir said, warming to the Prince’s touch. 

“I think I know.” 

Legolas’ hands slipped inside the Guardian’s robe, pushing the firm body closer to him. Haldir sucked in his breath but did not resist, melting against the other Elf. Was this not what he wanted? 

He knew it most certainly was when those talented hands began roaming his chest, massaging one nipple and then the other, deliberately moving downward, easily untying the irksome knot of his robe. 

“Legolas,” Haldir breathed, letting his head fall against the Elf's shoulder. 

“Is this want you want, Haldir?” the Prince asked, echoing the Guardian’s very thoughts. One hand rested at the juncture between thigh and pelvis, stroking the soft downy hair, the other continued its teasing ministrations on the Guardian’s chest. 

“Yes,” he moaned, shifting his hips, trying to bring his arousal into contact with the Prince’s hand. 

“Tell me this is what you want,” Legolas demanded. 

Lost in the haze of his desire and the blood pounding in his temples, the Guardian did not notice that the Prince’s tone had grown cold, that the Elf waited for a confession to leave his lips before granting his release. 

“This is what I want,” Haldir repeated dazedly. 

“Then that is all I need to know.” 

Haldir looked up at the Prince and all he could see was how the moonlight caught the fine golden hair, wreathing the other Elf’s face in its pale light. He leaned upwards for a kiss, unaware of the hard gleam in Legolas’ eye. The Prince smiled and like a dark angel he bent down, but instead of meeting the Guardian’s lips, he dipped his head lower to nip and lick the exposed flesh of Haldir’s neck. Nothing mattered anymore when Legolas took him in hand, expertly stroking and squeezing his leaking shaft. He hissed when Legolas brought him to the brink of release, but then held back, prolonging the pleasure, the torture. He squirmed in the other Elf’s embrace, his free hand groping for something to latch on to before he used it to find his own release, his other hand still gripping the carved rail. 

“Faster,’ he whispered and Legolas obeyed, long fingers curving into a tight tunnel. Moving his hand rhythmically, he increased the pace, increased the friction. 

“Now,” Haldir moaned, throwing his head back. “Now!” 

A hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, muffling his scream as Legolas bit down, hard enough to bruise the soft skin at the base of his neck, while at the same time firmly pulling his shaft one last time. Haldir fell back against the Prince, spent and trembling as Legolas continued to trail butterfly kisses along his neck, taking the time to massage the injured flesh with his tongue. The hand fell away from his mouth, traveling up his face until it brushed the Guardian’s sweat-moistened hair through its fingers. 

“I have branded you, Haldir of Lórien,” Legolas said enigmatically. “Now you may return to bed.” 

The Prince eased the Guardian off him and stood up smoothly, stretching his long legs. As Legolas disappeared into the room, it   
slowly dawned on Haldir that they had never even kissed.

~*~*~*~

The line had been crossed and Haldir knew that there would be no going back. He soon found out what Legolas meant by “maintaining certain conditions.” The following morning, the Prince acted as though nothing had happened and they went about their daily routine, laughing and talking like old friends. Confused as Haldir was, he waited to see what would happen and his patience was rewarded when Legolas came to him that night, quickly stripping him of his clothes and covering his body in kisses. He responded instantly, pushing Legolas onto his back and straddling the Elf’s slender waist. He leaned hungrily over the Prince, bending down to capture those teasing lips in a kiss, but Legolas placed a finger over the Guardian’s mouth and shook his head. Haldir understood and this time, there was no mistaking the gleam in the other Elf’s eye, but that did not deter the Guardian. Unfulfilled lust surged through him and he knew that he would be the dominant one tonight. 

These nightly encounters became part of their practice and Haldir could hardly believe that the Elf he grappled with for control was the same Legolas whom he hunted and sung songs with under the boughs of the great trees. Legolas liked it rough – on the floor, on the table, against the wall. His glittering eyes and silky smile continued to taunt the older Elf and Haldir quickly realized that at night, all the Prince gave to him was his body. Legolas’ heart remained tightly locked within its iron chest. This thought angered him, though Haldir could not bring himself to admit why. Instead, he would play rougher, tying Legolas to the bed and blindfolding the Prince so that he would not have to look at those indifferent eyes. Then he would take the young Elf without warning, thrusting hard and deep so that the bed shook with their exertion. The blindfold would loosen as silky hair rubbed against the carved headboard. It was during these instances that Haldir saw that Legolas’ eyes remained tightly shut beneath the blindfold. He does not wish to see, the Guardian thought. The knowledge that Legolas’ thoughts were far away served to incense him more. Who did the Prince imagine lay with him every night? Who did he wish cleaved him so deeply in two? With a sinking feeling, Haldir suspected that he knew. 

Most of all, Haldir wondered why Legolas had chosen to share his body with him. While their friendship continued to grow during the day, the Guardian felt as though he were being punished at night and he could not fathom why. But Haldir had entangled himself too intricately inside the Prince’s web to stem the tide. When had the hunter become the hunted? The Guardian could see now that they had been playing by the Prince’s rules since he returned. The rules dictated that there were to be no whispered endearments or words of comfort after the act, and that no emotional investment was necessary to partake in carnal pleasure. These were the conditions that they maintained, but this was no longer enough for Haldir. Legolas was like a drug that he had taken, intoxicating and inescapable. Yes, he would play by the Prince’s rules but there was a new goal at the end of the game. A kiss. A single elusive kiss and all that it represented. He vowed that he would have Legolas complete or not at all.

~*~*~*~

A palpable strain was developing between the two Elves that the Dwarf was not immune to. He could feel it in the air during their morning walks, though both Elves feigned indifference, Legolas showing greater skill than the Guardian in hiding his feelings. Sometimes Gimli would catch Haldir glancing at the Prince with a pained expression, but it was swiftly covered with a warm smile when Legolas looked in his direction. For his part, Legolas’ mask of serenity and composure did not falter. But the Dwarf knew the Elf better than that now – the shields and defenses that the Prince hid behind to prevent himself from feeling. Legolas would only let one come so near before pushing them away and Gimli felt fortunate to have come so far, so quickly. Perhaps Haldir had come even farther in their short space of time, breaching a part of the Prince that frightened the Elf. Could that be reason behind this new development? Gimli was unsure, but he knew that things would come to a head soon and that one or both of them would be hurt. He sighed heavily, all the while thinking what a fine match the two Elves made.

~*~*~*~

The day of the Fellowship’s departure was drawing nearer, though no one spoke of it. Haldir could feel it acutely like an iron fist crushing his heart. His time with Legolas was coming to an end and he had not resolved the issues between them. How did he broach a subject that was never acknowledged? How could he say words that were forbidden? He shook his head in frustration. Cowardice was a feeling that the March Warden was unaccustomed to. It would be easier to confront a hundred Orcs than to confess his feelings to the Prince, or worse, face the inevitable rejection. 

The Guardian rested his head against the trunk of a mallorn. He was sitting in the clearing where he and Legolas had shared two bottles of wine during the Fellowship’s first night at Caras Galadhon. It had been much simpler then, his goals had been different, his intentions far from noble. When had it all gone awry? Why did Legolas have this effect on him? 

The soft crunching of leaves drew his attention to someone approaching. A figure appeared by the side of the clearing, a goblet in his hand. Haldir recognized the profile at once and though he did not particularly feel like speaking to the Ranger, he brought his hand up in an invitation to come and join him. 

Aragorn looked at the Elf warily before walking towards him. He probably does not wish to speak to me either, Haldir thought with an amused smile. They had had little to do with one another since the Guardian’s return. The bargain had not been forgotten, but it was clear who had won their unspoken wager. Or so it would appear to the Man, Haldir thought bitterly, for his heart knew that the victory had been a hollow one. 

“Good evening, Aragorn,” he said cordially as the Ranger sat down. “Your steps are heavy for a man of stealth.” 

“I did not think that stealth was necessary in the Golden Wood,” Aragorn replied evenly. “For what need have we of stealth in a place where nothing may remain hidden?” 

Haldir burst out laughing, startling the Ranger. 

“How very true!” he exclaimed, unexpectedly warming to the mortal. “Forgive me,” he said sincerely. “I meant no offense.” 

Aragorn smiled and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Forgive me. My words were unnecessarily harsh.” He lifted his goblet to the Elf. “Perhaps I have had a little too much to drink,” he admitted.

“And what would drive one of the Dúnedain to drown his sorrows in wine?” 

Now it was Aragorn’s turn to laugh. “What drives us all?” he asked rhetorically. Then his voice grew somber. “Our time here is ending,” he said sadly. “There is much that remains unsettled and the road that stretches before us is paved with uncertainty.” He sighed, wondering why he was revealing this to the March Warden. 

Haldir merely nodded, the Man’s words echoing his own restless thoughts. 

“You and I did not get off to a good start,” he said after a moment’s pause. “We need not part on the same terms.” 

“Are you calling a truce, Haldir?” 

The Elf arched an eyebrow. “I was not aware that we were at war,” he said and then broke into another musical laugh. Aragorn laughed with him. 

“If a war were to be waged over such a prize,” the Man went on, “then it would be worth all the pain and grief caused by the battle.” 

“He is no prize,” the Guardian replied, absently twirling a nephredil in his hand. There was a strange emotion in his voice that caused the Ranger to look at him curiously. Then Aragorn chuckled softly.

“Even the Guardian of the Golden Wood is not immune to the Prince of Mirkwood’s charms,” he said with a shake of his head. “He is not a prize and should not be viewed as such. You have truly fallen under his spell if you are able to see beyond that.” 

“I am not the only one,” Haldir answered, piercing Aragorn with his gaze so that the Man shifted and took another sip of his wine. “He never speaks of you,” the Guardian went on, noting how the Ranger grew more uncomfortable with his words. “He speaks of your other companions readily enough. He has much respect and praise for all of them, but he never speaks of you. Why is that, Dúnadan?” 

Aragorn did not answer. 

“You were right,” Haldir said after awhile. “His affection is not easily bought.” 

Confusion spread across the Man’s features. “But you have become close friends, Haldir. I look upon you from afar and envy what is lost to me.” He paused and then said quietly, “You share more than friendship.” 

Haldir laughed again, but there was only pain and longing in the sound. “That is one way of putting it,” the Elf said bitterly. “We are friends by day, lovers by night.” He looked at the Man, instinctively knowing that the Ranger would understand his words. 

“I was not aware,” Aragorn said softly. “I am sorry, Haldir.” 

“Dúnadan, what have you to be sorry for?”

~*~*~*~

Legolas stood on one of the paths overlooking the pavilion below, a goblet of wine also in his hand. He idly wondered where Haldir was but quickly dismissed the thought with another sip of wine. He did not like to dwell on the Guardian, not when his feelings towards the other Elf had become muddled and confused. Whatever his heart tried to tell him was quickly silenced by his mind and the cool calculation that governed all his actions. His intentions had always been clear, his goal set. _But why?_ a persistent voice asked him. _Why did you let it go so far?_

The Prince watched as the stocky figure of the Dwarf strode towards the pavilion, conversing with the Captain of Gondor. His keen hearing could pick up Gimli’s gruff voice as he argued animatedly with his companion. Legolas shook his head in amusement, mirroring Boromir’s own gesture as their voices disappeared inside the pavilion. 

The Elf scanned the surrounding area and spied the Hobbits by the fountain. He smiled as he watched Pippin jump up, ready to entertain his rapt audience. The Prince continued his search and was not surprised to note that the Ranger was nowhere to be seen. If his mind clouded at the thought of Haldir, then is positively blackened at the thought of Aragorn. 

_Aragorn._

The name still haunted him, more so now than ever before. Legolas remained trapped in the past while the future burned before him. Against all odds, there was a light amid the darkness. A small, shining light that he could almost reach out and touch, if only he could let go of the past. 

The Prince sighed and drank deeply, emptying his goblet in an effort to rid himself of these foolish thoughts. There was no point to these ruminations. War would soon be upon them, if it had not already begun. If their quest failed, all the lands would be covered in darkness. There would be nothing to come back to. 

“What troubles the Prince of Mirkwood that he stays here by himself while his companions jest and laugh under the starry sky?” 

Startled, though he did not show it, Legolas turned his head to the right and watched Haldir approach him. 

“What troubles can any being have in fair Lothlórien?” he asked with a slight smile. 

“Lothlórien is not always fair,” the Guardian replied, coming to stand beside the Prince. 

“Do you speak from experience, Haldir?” Legolas asked in a somewhat ironic tone. 

Instead of answering the question, the Guardian looked at the Prince’s profile and said, “I know what troubles you, Legolas.” 

Curiously, the Prince turned towards the other Elf and leaned lightly against the wooden rail. “What would that be?” 

“ _Who_ would that be,” Haldir corrected. 

A shadow played across the Prince’s face, but the neutral mask remained in place and the golden half-smile on his lips. So very young, Haldir thought, but already so cold. Unseen scars that tear at his soul. It should not be this way. 

“The one you never speak of,” the Guardian added. Legolas’s brow furrowed, as though he didn’t understand, but the older Elf knew better. “You have been looking for him,” he continued. “Is that not why you stand here watching your companions from afar? It is too painful to be in his presence, but tolerable to observe from a distance.” 

“I do not know of whom you speak,” Legolas finally said. 

“You know perfectly well,” Haldir taunted, taking a step closer. Legolas moved backwards before he could stop himself. “You are afraid.” 

“Of you?” the Prince said scornfully. “Never.” He stubbornly held his ground, firmly placing his hand on the rail. 

The attitude and the stance were so akin to the Dwarf that Haldir had to suppress a smile. He took another step closer, consciously invading the younger Elf’s personal space. “He just entered the clearing,” the Guardian said in a low voice. “Do not look!” he ordered, as the Prince was about to turn his head. “It is better this way.” 

Legolas remained completely still, trapped by the Guardian’s steely gaze. There was something frightening about Haldir on this night. Something threatening in his step that rooted Legolas to the spot and unable to turn away. 

“Isn’t this what _you_ want?” Another step closer. “For him to see us like this? Together?” 

Legolas said nothing as Haldir wrapped a strong arm around his waist and pulled them so close together that their bodies touched. He did not yield to the Guardian’s embrace, regarding the other Elf with accusation in his eyes. 

“You punish him,” Haldir murmured as he dipped his head to trail soft kisses down the Prince’s neck. “You punish yourself.” 

Legolas’ breath caught as Haldir worked his way back up, kissing along his jaw line. Such tenderness was alien between them, making the Guardian’s actions all the more arousing. 

“You punish me,” the Guardian whispered hotly in his ear, gently nipping the sensitive tip. “And I do not know why.” 

Legolas shivered in spite of himself. Then Haldir drew away and the Prince missed his touch. He opened his eyes, unaware that he had shut them and looked at the Guardian with a mixture of wonder and apprehension. His heart was beating rapidly. He knew the other Elf could feel it. 

“I have a solution to your problem,” the Guardian continued, resting his forehead against the Prince. “A solution to _all_ our problems.” 

“What is this solution?” Legolas’ voice trembled slightly, afraid that he already knew the answer. 

“Let me show you.” 

Before Legolas could react, the Guardian pressed his lips to the younger Elf, and his free hand clamped behind the Prince’s neck to prevent him from pulling away. Legolas stiffened in response and did not return the kiss. But Haldir persisted, nibbling the full lower lip until the slender body molded against his. When he deemed the time to be right, he thrust his hips against the Prince, making sure that his growing arousal was felt. As he expected, a moan escaped the other Elf and he pushed his tongue in between the parted lips. Legolas tasted like honey mixed with spice from the wine he had just drunk. Intoxicating. Haldir eagerly explored the moist cavern that had been denied to him for so long, insistent but not demanding. Now was not the time to frighten the Prince. His boldness had already gotten him further than he expected. Their tongues began to tangle with one another as Legolas slowly responded to the kiss. A thrill went through Haldir when he withdrew and Legolas followed, taking his time to explore the Guardian's mouth in return. He could feel the metal rim of the wine goblet pressed against his chest where Legolas had laid his hand, but the Prince did not push him away. It was with great disappointment that Haldir ended the kiss and rested his head on the Prince’s forehead once more. The Guardian was breathing heavily, cradling the lithe body against his. 

“What are you doing?” Legolas asked in a strained voice. 

“What you want,” Haldir replied. “I have always done what _you_ want.” 

He fell back as Legolas pushed him away, the force of the metal goblet striking his chest. 

“Then you are wrong,” the Prince said in his cool, detached manner, turning around and striding away. “That is no solution.” 

Haldir stood there for a moment, his hand over the sting in his chest where Legolas had struck him. He had come to learn that everything the younger Elf did was deliberate and he smiled inwardly as he rubbed the sore spot immediately above his heart. He glanced down at the clearing below just in time to see the Ranger enter and walk toward the pavilion. The Man looked up and caught Haldir’s eye, raising his hand to bid the Guardian a good night. Haldir returned the gesture; mindful of the enlightening conversation they had shared earlier that eve. Then his eyes fixed on Legolas’ retreating figure. The Elf had just rounded the corner, presumably to return to their shared quarters. Haldir followed with purposeful steps. He was not yet through with the Prince.


	3. The Consequences

Legolas was fuming as he walked towards the Guardian’s chamber, though his quick, light steps did not betray his anger. _How dare he?_ the Prince wanted to scream. How dare he presume so much? It did not matter that Haldir’s assessment had been correct. The Guardian had always done what he wanted, but this . . . this was unexpected. Legolas was not about to let the March Warden gain the upper hand, not when he had been in control all this time.

He threw open the wooden door and heard it bang against the wall as he stalked inside. He could not stay here. Not anymore. He would pack his things and leave. The thought of returning to the pavilion was not particularly appealing to him, especially since he would have to explain his sudden appearance. Still, that option was better than staying here. He despised himself for running away like a coward. He could imagine his father’s scornful words in such a situation. As he played out one of his father’s lectures in his mind, it occurred to the Prince that he did not hear the door close, as it should have after his forceful handling of it. Rounding the bed to pick up his pack, he saw a figure standing in the doorway. Taking a deep breath, Legolas looked up. 

“We are not finished,” Haldir said with his arms crossed, obstinately blocking the entrance.

“I have nothing more to say to you.”

“Very well,” the Guardian said, “then you shall listen to me.”

Anger and annoyance flared in the Prince’s sapphire eyes, but he paid the Guardian no mind as he continued to gather and pack his things. Haldir stepped inside the room and moved to stand on the opposite side of the bed, his arms still crossed.

“You are a selfish and manipulative creature,” he began.

These were hardly the opening words Legolas expected to hear and he almost dropped one of his tunics in surprise.

“You are an enigma that I have been trying to decipher since my return,” Haldir continued, “but thus far, all my attempts have been thwarted. I have often asked myself, how is it possible that one who rivals the light of the sun by day, may be colder than the snow on Caradhras by night? The answer eluded me, that is, until this eve. I had an epiphany, in the form of a conversation with one of your companions, a certain reticent Ranger.” 

Haldir paused to gauge the Prince’s reaction, but Legolas remained unperturbed, quietly and efficiently packing his belongings.

“He told me a story,” the Guardian said, “a very touching story about his first love. I believe you know it as well.”

Another pause. The barest hint of tension in the Prince’s fine-boned wrist.

“He learnt so much from you,” Haldir went on. “What it means to love, to trust, to draw strength while giving yourself to someone completely. What a fine teacher you must have been.”

Laces of anger in the swift actions and the clenching of the younger Elf’s jaw.

“First loves never die, Legolas, though it might have ended badly. He loves you still, even if you refuse to believe it. He never stopped loving you.” 

Hesitation. There was something familiar about the Guardian’s words but Legolas could not place them. Where had he heard them before? Then he knew. Had the Lady Galadriel not said the same thing when he stood before her knowing gaze? He looked up at Haldir in surprise.

The Guardian was scrutinizing him, his aura of age and wisdom directed solely at the woodland Prince. It made Legolas feel very young. Uncertain. Was he such an open book that the Guardian could read him at a glance? He dropped his gaze and returned his attention to his small pack, securely strapping it to his back. It was time to leave.

But Haldir was not finished. “Do not think that you can just walk away from me again, Princeling,” he said sternly. “I have not reached the heart of the matter.”

Legolas laughed scornfully. “What more is there to say?” he mocked, moving towards the table to gather his weapons.

“A great deal,” Haldir replied, following the Prince, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

Legolas ignored him and picked up his bow, but Haldir swiftly grabbed his wrist in a painful grip, preventing him from strapping the bow onto his back.

“Let me go,” Legolas hissed, blue eyes glinting dangerously.

“Not until you have answered my question.”

“I do not recall being asked anything!” the Prince snapped.

Haldir tightened his grip at the young Elf’s impertinence causing the Prince to grimace, but Legolas would not give in to the pain and looked at the Guardian defiantly.

“On the Fellowship’s first night here in Caras Galadhon,” Haldir continued, “while you, Aragorn and myself conversed over a bottle of wine in that clearing, you said that he and I were similar. What did you mean by that?”

Legolas’ defiance gave way to a look of confusion as he stared at the older Elf. “What are you talking about?” he exclaimed. “Have you gone mad?” 

“If I have,” Haldir countered, “it is because you have driven me to it. Now answer the question!”

“What answer do you wish to hear?” Legolas shot back, infuriating the Guardian even more.

“I am familiar with your evasive tactics, young Prince,” Haldir said stonily, not relinquishing the Elf’s wrist. “They will not work tonight. Answer the question!” he repeated.

Legolas pursed his lips together and said nothing. Haldir noticed that the Prince no longer struggled to free his wrist, but neither was he about to indulge the Guardian with an answer. They stood like this for several long moments, neither one about to give in to the other’s demands. Haldir’s hand began to ache from gripping the Prince’s wrist so tightly, and he knew that Legolas must have begun to feel the first signs of numbness creep into his wrist. Finally, Haldir sighed. It was always the same. Why did he feel so defeated around Legolas? 

“I am tired of playing games,” he said quietly. “It should not be this way. Can you not see how very wrong it is? What we do . . . how we treat one another . . .” The Guardian trailed off, shaking his head. There was still no response from the Prince. What could he say or do to get through to him?

“You are not the first to be hurt by love and you will not be the last,” Haldir tried again. “You are still so young, Legolas. Already you close yourself off to those who would offer you comfort, love and protection. It is not weakness to rely on the strength of others. You live in isolation, in your own tower of ice. I would change that,” he said, searching the Elf’s eyes for some sort of reaction. “I would show you what it means to trust and love again. I would offer you–”

“What, Haldir?” Legolas taunted, sapphire eyes flaring to life. “What would you offer me?”

“I would offer you my love.”

The Prince laughed then and the sound was cold and cruel to the Guardian’s ears. 

“Dear, sweet Haldir,” Legolas said, his normally gentle and melodic voice dripping with pity. The blue eyes were bereft of any kindness and they gleamed like steel in the suddenly chilly room. “You are tired of playing games?” he mocked. “May I remind you that it was none other than yourself who began our little charade when you named me as the price for our company’s passage through Lórien? What have you to say to that?”

The reminder was like a slap to the Guardian’s face. How could Legolas possibly know? He was certain that Aragorn had not told the Prince. Reading the confusion in the other Elf’s eyes, Legolas calmly said, “The Eldar are blessed with the gift of extraordinary hearing.”

Although visibly shaken, Haldir quickly composed himself, automatically tightening his grip on the slender wrist. “I do not deny that our ‘relationship’ began on the basis of a bargain,” he said evenly, “and you have justly punished me for my folly. But nor do I believe,” he added, “that such a childish wager is the sole reason behind your actions. You are far too complicated a being to act so simple-mindedly. No,” he shook his head, “we have moved beyond that. And now that I have answered your question, will you have the grace to answer mine?” 

Legolas looked away, but not before Haldir glimpsed the turbulence in his eyes. The Prince was trapped, metaphorically and physically, for he realized that he was standing with his back to the corner of the room. On his left was Haldir’s writing desk; to his right was the small table where he kept his weapons. It was a small chamber. The door could not have been more than twelve paces away. _Escape!_ was the thought first and foremost in his mind, but Haldir blocked his path and that cursed question rung in his ears. Why had he said that Aragorn and Haldir were similar? Did he even know the answer anymore? His heart knew, but his mind would not dwell on the matter. It hurt to think about it. Aware that he was reaching his breaking point but refusing to give in, Legolas instinctively unsheathed one of his long white knives from the edge of the table, and in a movement swifter than the mortal eye could follow, drew it against Haldir’s throat, taking the Guardian by surprise.

“Let me go,” he said again, his eyes pleading with the Guardian to take this no further.

Haldir arched a delicate eyebrow and studied the frightened creature in front of him. He believed in his heart that Legolas was attacking out of love and fear, even though the Prince could not admit it. 

“You would fight me?” he asked gently.

“If I must,” came the whispered reply, the usually tranquil features etched with sorrow and sadness. His wrist was released and Legolas quickly strapped his bow and quiver onto his back. He looked up just in time to see Haldir draw the two ceremonial long knives from the wall behind the table. The Guardian turned to face him, the finely carved, silver blades held firmly in his hands.

“These are Noldorin knives,” he told the Prince. “A gift from the Lady Galadriel. They are very old measured by our lifetimes. They have seen battle and shed blood. They have fought for all that is good and true, upholding our beliefs in the face of darkness and defeat. They will fight for you.” 

Legolas swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat as the Guardian spoke. He had played the game badly indeed for it to come to this, but he would see his actions through. With unwavering determination, he slipped off his pack and bow. Then he unsheathed his second knife and moved to stand in front of Haldir. Both warriors had not seen the other fight before, but both were aware of each other’s prowess in battle. As they circled one another in the small room, Haldir thought with an ironic half-smile what a relief it was that Legolas had chosen to draw his knife instead of his bow. His concentration returned to the task at hand as Legolas made the first move, drawing his knife in a slicing arc that Haldir met and parried, bringing his other knife around to deal his own blow. Legolas easily deflected it and soon the two Elves were engaged in combat. The only sound to be heard was the singing of their blades as they met and clashed in the heavy stillness of the room.

Haldir poured all his passion into the fight. For too long had he kept his emotions bottled up inside, this love that he felt that could not be expressed now manifested itself in battle. He knew that he was breaking one of his own tenets, to never let his actions be guided by his emotions in combat. But this case was different. The Guardian believed that only passion would overpower the Prince and raze his foundations of ice. 

Legolas could feel his resolving weakening. It was tearing him inside to fight Haldir in this way. The Guardian’s passion was engulfing. He could feel it with each strike, each deflected bow. His own actions appeared mechanical by comparison. He fought out of instinct, not conviction. It would be so easy to just give in, to not be in control, but he had never known surrender before. The fight continued and the two competitors were evenly matched.

As the contest grew more heated, the Guardian’s chamber began to suffer the consequences of their match. A chair was knocked over as Legolas fell against it, holding it up to block Haldir’s next blow. The silver basin was toppled from the chest of drawers as Haldir’s wrist snapped against the carved dresser, forcing the Elf to drop one of his blades. The jug of water clattered after it, spilling its contents onto the wooden floor. Haldir’s free hand connected with the Prince’s jaw, momentarily stunning the younger Elf. The Guardian took this opportunity to dive at the Prince, grabbing Legolas’ right arm and savagely twisting it behind him until he heard Legolas’ white blade fall to the floor. Then he forced Legolas onto the bed that stood opposite the dresser. The Prince no longer struggled, but defiance still burned in his eyes as he sought to regain his breath. Haldir held the tip of his last blade against the Prince’s exposed throat, but he did not pierce the tender flesh. His stormy eyes were filled with confusion and unanswered questions. He had to know. 

“Why?” he whispered brokenly. “Why will you not accept my love?”

“Because I do not want it!” Legolas burst out. “I have never wanted it!”

The Prince took a moment to calm himself and school his features to their normal bland indifference, while watching the shock and defeat register on Haldir’s expressive face. He looked the Guardian squarely in the eye and said with utter finality, “I do not need your love.”

Haldir released him without a word. As he stood over the bed looking down at the Prince, coldness began to creep into his heart. For the first time, he understood what had driven Legolas to become this way, why it was easier to remain distant and unaffected rather than give yourself over to such pain. A shroud fell over his eyes. The Mirkwood Prince was a prize indeed, beautiful and unattainable. He shone with the brilliance of the finest jewels, but was as incapable of feeling as those lifeless stones. Neither could he be possessed or owned, merely admired from afar. This was not enough for Haldir. Not when he had touched the possibility that lay beneath that cold veneer. Without saying a word, he turned around and left the room. 

Legolas lay on the soft bed and shifted his body to release the arm that had been pinned behind his back. Pain shot through it at the movement, mirroring the acute stab he felt in his heart. _Why do you despair?_ a voice asked him. _You have won, as you always do._

“If that is the case,” the Prince said aloud to the empty room, “why do I feel so defeated?”

~*~*~*~

Legolas felt as though his world had been turned upside down. He was living in a strange alternative reality where events replayed themselves in reverse. Haldir left again the following morning, this time without good-bye or farewell. The Prince only heard of his departure through the Guardian’s younger brother, Orophin, who had answered Pippin’s inquiring questions as he had passed by the pavilion.

“How strange!” Pippin said. “He must have some terribly important business to attend to if he had to leave so quickly. He didn’t even have time to say good-bye. We will see him again before we leave, won’t we?” he asked Orophin hopefully. 

“I am not certain,” the Elf replied. He looked up and met the Prince’s inscrutable gaze. “What do you think, Legolas?”

Legolas gazed back impassively. Finally he stood up without answering the question and said, “Your pardon. I must meet Gimli for our morning walk.”

“He is also acting strangely,” Pippin muttered as he and Orophin watched the Prince disappear into the woods.

After his confrontation with Haldir the previous eve, Legolas did not have the heart to return to the pavilion immediately and face the questions of the others. Instead, he had wandered around Caras Galadhon until the city slept and he became a silent ghost. The Prince had walked and walked, leaving no trace of his passing though his feet felt like lead. Eventually his body had sought rest and he found himself standing at the edge of the pavilion, unaware of when or how he had made his way back. Taking care not to disturb the others, he thread his way through his sleeping companions until he reached his own untouched bed. Then he gently put down his belongings and stretched himself out on the soft folds. He had not slept in the bed since the Fellowship’s arrival at the Elven city. 

If his companions were surprised at his sudden appearance the following morning, they did a remarkable job of not showing it. Even Pippin managed to rein in his curiosity after a few well-placed kicks and shoves from Merry, and the occasional warning glance from Frodo. It was clear to all of them that something was amiss, but the Elf’s problems were his own and they each had too much discretion to add to the Prince’s concerns. At least, that was Gimli’s reasoning until he had the chance to confront Legolas when they were alone.

The opportunity came soon enough as the Dwarf watched the Prince approach him, always on time for their daily excursion.

“How fare you this morning, Master Elf?” he asked jovially, knowing that the question would irk the Prince.

“As fair as the day and the morning breeze,” Legolas replied.

“The day is overcast and the breeze is chilly,” Gimli observed. 

“Winter approaches and with it the frost,” the Elf answered. “Arien will no longer shine so high in the sky.” He arched an eyebrow at the Dwarf, waiting to see if his companion would continue this little metaphor.

Gimli let out a small grunt. This was as dark a mood as he had ever seen the Elf in, save perhaps for their journey across the mines of Moria. He would have to try a different tactic in order to get through to his hardheaded friend.

“Then where can we go that the breeze may be warmer and the sunshine brighter?” he asked.

“I shall leave our destination to you,” Legolas said with a sweep of his hand, indicating that the Dwarf should lead the way. Gimli eyed him suspiciously before turning around and marching into the wood. “Though I should warn you,” the Elf added as he followed his friend, “that the breeze will remain cool wherever we go, and neither have we any control of the sunlight that falls on our path.”

“We shall see about that,” Gimli muttered under his breath, but not so quietly that the Elf’s keen hearing did not pick up his words. 

The two companions walked deeper into an area of the wood that they had never passed through before. Legolas did not believe that Gimli had any clue as to where they were headed, but he followed faithfully, the faintest smile on his lips. As it turned out, the Elf’s assumption was correct but the Dwarf would have been the last to admit it. Besides, he told himself, it wasn’t as if they were lost. No, not at all! They were merely exploring a different part of the wood. If only all these trees didn’t look the same, he thought ruefully with a glance about him.

At last, feeling the ache in his legs and the shortness of breath, Gimli paused in front of a great mallorn, easily eleven feet in diameter and turned to the Elf with a satisfied smile.

“A fine place for a rest and a bit of refreshment,” he declared, sitting down on the forest floor and leaning against one of the large protruding roots.

Legolas agreed and perched on an even larger root opposite the Dwarf, his eyes scanning the surrounding area as his hands absently untied a small pouch that contained fresh berries. 

Gimli let out an exasperated sigh.

“Can you at least not make yourself comfortable?” he asked irritably.

“I am quite comfortable,” Legolas replied, delicately picking at his berries.

“Perhaps if you were a bird,” Gimli retorted.

The Prince fixed the Dwarf with a long look before he stretched his legs and gracefully slid down the root to settle onto the forest floor. He crossed his legs, leaned back against the root and arched an eyebrow at the Dwarf as if to say, “Better?”

Gimli grunted again before taking a long draught from his flask and Legolas took this to mean that the Dwarf approved. They ate in silence for a while, the Elf thankful that his friend had chosen the path of discretion and did not question him about Haldir’s noticeable absence.

He was sorely mistaken.

“What have you done to drive Haldir away?” 

Legolas choked on a berry.

“I beg your pardon?” he managed to gasp in a rather undignified manner.

“You heard me,” Gimli retorted. “What have you done to drive Haldir away?”

“Consuming ale too early in the morning has gone to your head,” Legolas replied with a shake of his head.

“And you skillfully avoid subjects that you do not wish to discuss,” Gimli said. “That will not work today.”

Legolas sighed. That answer sounded disturbingly familiar as well. However, in the light of day surrounded by the peacefulness of the wood, he felt better equipped to handle the Dwarf’s tough questions than he had the night before, when he had been trapped and confronted by Haldir’s harsh realities.

“We had a disagreement,” he said at last. 

A disagreement?” the Dwarf repeated disbelievingly, giving the Elf a long, hard look.

“A minor confrontation,” Legolas revised.

“I see.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Will you tell me what this confrontation was about?” Gimli inquired. “Or must I wrench that out of you as well?”

The Prince glared at his pigheaded friend, who returned the look with equal conviction. The Dwarf was surprised when the Elf backed down, understanding for the first time how heavily the issue weighed on his friend’s shoulders. He waited patiently for the Prince to speak.

“Haldir and I are friends,” Legolas said quietly.

Gimli chose not to comment on such a blatantly obvious statement. He dared not open his mouth for fear that a quick retort might slip out. 

“But do you know how that friendship began?” the Elf continued.

The Dwarf shook his head.

“When we first entered Lórien and encountered Haldir and his brothers, he was reluctant to grant us sanctuary. In fact, he refused.”

“Perhaps at first,” Gimli interjected, “but Aragorn had a few words with him to change his mind.”

“Yes,” Legolas agreed, looking up at the overcast sky. “Our resourceful leader did have a talk with Haldir.” Then he directed his gaze at his friend, instantly reminding Gimli of the Elf’s long years. “The condition for our safe passage was that Haldir would be allowed to pursue his interest in me without any interference on Aragorn’s part.”

Gimli raised an eyebrow. This was certainly news to him.

“The bargain became irrelevant the following day,” Legolas said offhandedly, “when Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel granted our passage.”

“Somehow I do not think it remained ‘irrelevant’ in your eyes,” the Dwarf commented.

Legolas gave a small smile. “How well you know me,” he said with a slight inclination of his head. “No, such agreements are not easily forgotten, especially by one who is bartered like some petty bauble.” The Prince’s voice had grown hard as he spoke. “I wanted to teach Haldir a lesson, to punish him for thinking that I am nothing more than a prized jewel, another conquest that he may add to others before. What better way to do it, I reasoned, than to beat him at his own game?”

Gimli nodded silently, trying to comprehend this new side of Legolas that he had not glimpsed before. The Elf was far more cunning and scheming than he had given the Prince credit for. He would not like to be on the receiving end of the Elf’s wrath, for Legolas’ skill lay in intrigue and manipulation. These were courtly weapons, which, when used at the appropriate time, were more accurate and deadly than the sharpest blade. 

“But my plans went awry,” the Elf confessed. “For during our first night in Caras Galadhon as we conversed under the evening sky, I began to see that there was more to Haldir than met the eye. True kindness and nobility that I had only caught glimpses of during our journey here. Then he left so quickly the following morning.” The Prince shook his head. “I tried to put him out of my mind, but he haunted my thoughts and I found myself patiently waiting for his return. I no longer knew what approach to take when I saw him again, but he solved that dilemma for me, laying the path of friendship before us that I gladly accepted. However, together with friendship, passion grew and I failed, Gimli!” Legolas exclaimed with dismay. “I failed to separate the two.” He shook his head, the familiar feeling of defeat washing over him. “That much is clear to me now.”

“Aye, it is clear to me as well,” the Dwarf agreed. “You love him.”

The Elf sat perfectly still, studying his companion with his implacable gaze.

“I am willing to wager,” Gimli continued, “that this bargain you mentioned was not the basis of your confrontation last night. I believe that you quarreled over love – love freely offered and denied. Why do you fear love, Legolas?” 

“How can you speak of love at a time like this?” the Prince asked, his voice devoid of any emotion. “We stand on the edge of a precipice and shadows lengthen around us. As our quest becomes more perilous, our chances of success grow slim. There is nothing but darkness and despair on our path and yet you choose to speak to me about love?”

“Grave are your words, Master Elf,” Gimli said seriously, “and bleak is the truth you speak. That is why there is no better time to discuss love. It is a bottomless well from which we draw our strength to continue. Can you not see this wondrous gift that has been offered to you at your time of greatest need? Love is why we fight, why hope lives on.”

“We fight for all that is good and true,” Legolas countered. “For our families, our kingdoms and our people. We fight so that we may stay free.”

“And is love not the basis for all these things?”

The Elf laughed suddenly, shaking his head. “Who would have guessed that you are such a hopeless romantic?” he exclaimed. 

“And you are an incorrigible cynic!” was the Dwarf’s swift reply.

The two friends fell into another silence, but Gimli was not about to let the subject go so easily. He leaned forward and said sternly, “Listen to me, Legolas and do not interrupt! I do not know what happened in your past to make you shy away from love. But I do know that without it you are an empty shell, hollow and incomplete. I would account you, my dear friend, the greatest of fools to reject what Haldir offers. Our time here is ending and you have wasted much of it with childish games and challenges. We both know what toils lay ahead. If we fail and the lands are covered in darkness, then that is all the more reason why you should make the most of what time you have left. I can think of nothing worse than to leave this sacred realm with only the bitter taste of regret in your heart.”

Legolas listened thoughtfully, but did not reply. Gimli sighed. The Elf’s stubbornness could be maddening. A rather Dwarvish trait, he thought with a wry smile. Finally, the Prince stood up. 

“We had best be on our way,” he said indifferently. “It shall be time for lunch by the time we return.” He waited while the Dwarf got to his feet and picked up his axe and then proceeded to lead them back the way they had come. He could hear Gimli’s heavy footfalls behind him and the unmistakable feeling of annoyed frustration that emanated from every step. He smiled to himself and said, “The sun is shining brightly now, wouldn’t you say?”

Gimli looked up. The clouds had indeed moved on and his eyes were greeted by a clear blue sky. “Aye,” he agreed gruffly. “The weather has improved, but the breeze is still too cool for my liking, as you said it would remain wherever we went.”

“The breeze is cool,” the Elf admitted, “but it blows with the freshness of spring and not the frost of winter. Come, Gimli,” he encouraged, picking up the pace. “I have things to do.”

The Dwarf did not complain as he hurried to catch up with the Elf’s long strides. Spring was the season for new beginnings. Perhaps he had gotten through to his stubborn friend after all.

~*~*~*~

By the time Gimli returned to the pavilion, the rest of the Fellowship had already begun the midday meal.

“Our apologies Master Dwarf,” Boromir greeted, “for starting without you. We waited for as long as possible. At least, until Pippin’s pleas became more than we could bear.”

The Man gave the youngest Hobbit a conspiratorial wink. Pippin would have given his own retort if his mouth hadn’t been stuffed with Elven sweetmeat.

“Where is Legolas?” Aragorn asked suddenly, noticing the Elf’s conspicuous absence.

“Ah, yes. The Elf,” Gimli said in no hurry to answer the question. He was famished from the long walk and quickly piled his own plate with food, unaware that six pairs of eyes had expectedly turned on him.

“Yes?” Aragorn prodded, watching with minor annoyance as the Dwarf took a hearty bite from his rabbit leg.

“Mmm . . . mmm . . .” Gimli mumbled contentedly while chewing. The Ranger followed the Dwarf’s stocky hand as Gimli washed his rabbit down with a gulp of wine. Brushing the back of his arm across his thick beard, the Dwarf idly wondered why the normally placid Ranger seemed agitated by the Elf’s nonattendance. “Legolas,” he began, “has some business to attend to. I suspect that he shall not be joining us for dinner either,” he added.

“Well,” Pippin finally managed to say. “Everyone seems to be occupied today. First Haldir and now Legolas.”

Aragorn continued his meal, absently bringing a piece of bread to his lips as he pondered Pippin’s words. It did seem strange that both Elves had mysteriously disappeared. Then there was the Dwarf! Gimli sat in his seat with a look of complete self-satisfaction. He was extremely pleased about something and the Man suspected that it was not only the hearty lunch that brought a smile to the Dwarf’s face.

~*~*~*~

Legolas wandered around the lower area of the city searching for a particular Elf. He soon found him sitting under a mallorn tree with three other companions. He approached the group and noticed how the laughter faded as the three companions became aware of his presence. They watched him expectantly, one of them gesturing to the Elf still speaking that they had a guest.

Orophin turned around and was unable to hide his surprise at seeing the Mirkwood Prince before him. “May I help you?” he asked politely.

“Yes,” Legolas answered. “I was hoping to have a word with you.”

Orophin studied the fair creature before him, his surprise quickly covered by an unreadable expression. His brother had chosen well, he thought to himself, but had paid a high price. After a moment, he nodded and stood up, excusing himself from his friends. For a while, the two Elves walked in silence until Orophin was quite certain that they were alone.

“What do you wish to discuss?” he asked the Prince.

“I must speak with your brother,” Legolas answered instantly.

Orophin stiffened slightly. “That will be difficult,” he said evenly, “for my brother has already returned to the northern border.”

“Then you must take me to him!” Legolas said emphatically.

The Lórien Elf stopped abruptly and turned to face the Prince, arching a golden eyebrow at this rare display of emotion. Legolas also stopped walking and took a deep breath before speaking again.

“I have wronged your brother,” he said simply, “and I have hurt him terribly. I must set things right between us. I do not expect Haldir to forgive me, but nor can I leave Lothlórien without voicing my heart’s desires. For too long have I let my actions been governed by my mind and rational thought. Your brother has taught me not to silence my heart, for it is the most powerful voice of all. I am a better person because of him. Please, Orophin,” Legolas pleaded. “Help me do what we both know is right.”

Silence followed the Prince’s confession and with it Legolas’ hopes diminished. He did not know what Haldir had divulged to his brother about their relationship, but it certainly could not have painted him in a favorable light. He sighed, looking at the grass beneath his feet and waited for the inevitable rejection. But it did not happen.

“There is a patrol headed to the northern border later this afternoon,” Orophin began. “It just so happens that I shall be leading them. We will meet at the main gate in two hours.”

Legolas lifted his face and was greeted by Orophin’s kind smile. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

~*~*~*~

It was well past dusk when the patrol crossed the fair stream of Nimrodel on Lothlórien’s northern border. After a few quiet instructions from their Captain, the rest of the patrol disappeared soundlessly into their usual designated spots, but Orophin motioned for Legolas to follow him and the Prince did so obligingly. They traveled a little way farther before Orophin stopped and pointed at a sturdy mallorn not more than ten feet away from them.

“Haldir is waiting for me there,” he explained. “I will see him first to deliver my report. Should I tell him that you are here?”

“No,” Legolas replied. “He may refuse to see me.”

Orophin did not actually believe that this would be the case. Nevertheless, he nodded in agreement and left the Prince to see his brother. Legolas waited at the foot of the great mallorn, silently pacing in front of the tree. He could not remember the last time he had been this nervous, absently wringing his hands as he walked. Not even the threat of upcoming battle could bring him to such a state of agitated anticipation. All too soon, Orophin descended the gray rope ladder and motioned for the Prince to go up. Legolas grasped the sturdy rope, but did not climb it. An encouraging squeeze on his shoulder from the Guardian’s brother made up his mind. He gave Orophin a grateful smile and then swiftly climbed the ladder. He emerged onto the wide talan and immediately saw Haldir standing on the far side.

The Guardian stood with his back to the Prince, intently watching the area below him. Sensing a presence behind him, he said lightheartedly as he turned around, “Have you forgotten something, dear brother?”

The smile quickly faded from his lips when he saw who greeted him. Legolas inwardly cringed at the stony expression on the Guardian’s face, the hurt and resentment that emanated from his very being. These were feelings that he knew all too well.

“Haldir,” he began and then faltered. He did not know how to make amends. _Speak from your heart_ , a voice told him and for the first time, the Prince listened.

“I am sorry,” he tried again. “I am sorry for everything. I could not have been more wrong and I have treated you abominably.” Legolas took a hesitant step forward, trying to gauge the Guardian’s reaction to his words. He marked how Haldir stood, his body tense as though ready for flight, his hands balled into fists at his sides, a sign of retaliation. “I do not expect you to forgive me,” he continued, “but I beg of you to at least hear me out.”

Silence. Only an imperceptible nod from the Guardian let Legolas know that he was given permission to continue. But then Haldir turned his back on the Prince and Legolas was disheartened by the gesture. He steeled himself for what would happen next. He was facing the consequences of his game and he would see his actions through.

“You wanted to know why I said that you and Aragorn were similar,” the Prince said, picking up the final thread of their confrontation from the night before. “On that first night in Caras Galadhon, as we conversed under the boughs of the golden trees, I began to see that I had underestimated you. There is nobility beneath your façade; kindness, goodness and integrity underlie all your actions – the true strength of a warrior and a leader. You managed to touch a part of me that I thought had been sealed by another.” Legolas chuckled softly. “I was instantly attracted to you from the first moment we met,” he admitted, “but I did my best not to show it. I overheard your bargain with Aragorn as snatches of it were carried by the wind, enough for me to piece it together. I was angry that you thought so lowly of me, no more than another conquest for your bed. I wanted to punish you,” he said quietly. “I wanted to punish both of you.”

The Prince stopped and sighed. There was still no reaction from Haldir, no easing of the tension in the Guardian’s shoulders and a sense of futility began to creep over him. He took a few steps closer to the Guardian, as if by bridging the physical distance between them, he would also be able to close the emotional divide. He spoke again, attempting to strengthen the conviction in his voice.

“I knew what I wanted to do,” Legolas said, “but you confused me, Haldir, and led my plans astray. You left so suddenly,” he almost exclaimed, “and all I had was time and memories of that one wondrous night of possibility to dwell on until your return. I waited for you,” the Prince confessed, “uncertain of what I would do when you finally arrived. You solved that problem for me by choosing the path of friendship, and as it deepened with the passing days I tried to forget the bargain that had become the foundation of our relationship. But it was impossible! I craved your touch, your scent, your nearness! I ached for you. And I suspected,” he said quietly, deliberately, “that you felt the same way.”

By the time Legolas had finished speaking, he was standing immediately behind the Guardian, not more than a foot away. He could feel the electricity between them, charging and igniting the night air. He wanted to reach out and place his hand on Haldir’s broad shoulder, but he did not dare.

“I could not bear the thought of being another conquest to you,” he whispered, “but I wanted you nonetheless. And I thought,” Legolas said, dropping his voice so low that Haldir had to strain to hear his words, “that I could have it both ways. I was wrong. I’m sorry, Haldir. I’m so sorry. You did not deserve that. I’m sorry,” he apologized over and over again.

Legolas could feel his chest constricting; it was becoming difficult to breathe. The Prince was afraid that he would faint and his mind balked at the idea. Nevertheless, his knees had grown weak. He needed to sit down, but for some reason he found himself being held up instead of sprawled on the talan floor. It took a moment for him to realize that the Guardian’s strong arms supported him, but when he looked into Haldir’s face, no warmth and kindness greeted him, just the same unreadable expression. Legolas wanted to push him away. It was too painful to see what he had done to this proud and beautiful Elf, but he did not have the strength. This was not the Haldir he knew, he thought bitterly, closing his eyes in resignation.

“You cannot have it both ways.”

The Guardian’s voice cut like steel through the heavy silence. Legolas’s eyes flew open, apprehension apparent on his face.

“Therefore,” Haldir continued in the same monotonous tone, “you must choose. What do you want, Legolas?”

Legolas thought his heart would burst from this single grain of hope as he gazed into Haldir’s gray eyes. “I want you. Only you,” he said softly, hardly daring to breathe. “If you will have me.”

Once again, there was no reaction from Haldir but Legolas could see the turbulence in his eyes. Emotions were warring within the Guardian, and after what felt like an eternity to the young Prince, the Lórien Elf rested his head on the Prince’s forehead, still undecided. Legolas made his mind up for him when the Prince tilted his head upwards and brushed his lips against the Guardian’s. That small touch sent fire through his veins and he was aware of Legolas’s palm against his chest, where only the night before the Prince had pushed him away with a bronze goblet. He covered the Prince’s hand with his own and held it against his heart, while tightening his hold around the Elf’s slender waist with his other arm. Legolas was smiling now, hesitantly, but there was an unmistakable emotion in his eyes that the Guardian had longed to see. The black shroud that had settled over his eyes lifted, and through the remaining haze, he bent down to kiss the Prince.

Legolas returned the kiss eagerly, his free hand snaking up Haldir’s back to pull the Elf closer. The kiss could have lasted forever, but the young Elf was impatient, pulling the Guardian down with him onto the wooden floor. He slipped off his bow and quiver while Haldir assisted him with his long knives. The urgent kisses continued as clothes were shed. Legolas could not get enough of the taste of Haldir. This felt right. He had been such a fool to deny this for so long. Nothing had been gained and so much time had been lost. He spread his legs, inviting the Guardian to lie between them. Haldir did so, settling comfortably in between the Prince’s thighs, laying his body on top of the younger Elf. The urgency faded from their touches. There was no need to rush. The gentle exploration continued filled with tender touches and sweet caresses. It was unlike anything they had done before, Legolas reflected, burying his head in the Guardian’s long mane, kissing and licking the exposed neck. He thought of how he had branded Haldir on that night long ago and he could have wept. He searched for the Guardian’s lips and finding them, kissed Haldir deeply, trying to forever rid himself of that dreadful memory. Their kisses spoke volumes to both Elves, conveying more in their heat and passion than words could have ever done.

“I have nothing to prepare you,” Haldir said regretfully when his desire became too great. He rubbed his hardened member against the Prince’s thigh, then brought their erections together in a sizzling touch. Legolas shifted restlessly beneath him, trying to increase the contact.

“It does not matter,” Legolas said tenderly, wrapping his legs around the Guardian’s waist, preventing him from pulling away. “It will be a good pain.”

Then he reached down in between their bodies and took the Guardian in hand, coaxing some of the pearly essence from the tip with his touch, using the fluid as a lubricant with which to coat Haldir. The Lórien Elf had become fascinated with the Prince’s collarbone, kissing and licking across the smooth flesh until Legolas sighed in contentment. When the Prince was done with his preparations, he guided the shaft to his tight opening, placing it at the entrance before wrapping his arms around the Guardian and pulling him close.

“I am ready,” he whispered.

Legolas waited, his breathing slow and even as Haldir filled him, his body welcoming the invasion as it never had before. Once he was fully sheathed, Haldir paused for a kiss, almost losing himself in its slow tempo until the upward thrust of Legolas’ hips reminded him that further pleasure awaited.

“Impatient Elf!” the Guardian teased.

“The impatience of youth is tempered by our stamina and resilience,” the Prince countered, drawing the Guardian even deeper with his actions, causing Haldir to suck in his breath at the extreme tightness that surrounded him.

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, withdrawing slightly.

“Only if you feel you are up to it,” the Prince replied with a fey smile.

He received his answer when Haldir thrust into him unexpectedly, hitting his pleasure spot with ease. Legolas cried out at the contact, the flash of pleasure obliterating any previous pain.

“The others will know what we are doing,” Haldir chided, purposely stilling again even as Legolas moved restlessly beneath him. “You may even alert the Enemy’s servants to our presence.”

“You will have to find a way to silence me then,” Legolas breathed, indigo eyes lit with the flames of passion.

Haldir smiled, the perfect solution entering his mind. As he bent down to kiss the Prince again, he realized that a new sort of game had begun.

~*~*~*~

Later, as two golden Elves lay wrapped in between the gray blankets that Legolas had insisted on laying out on the talan floor, the Prince found that he could not rest. He was content and sated; Haldir’s arm wrapped protectively around his waist, drawing him against the Guardian’s body, yet an unbidden thought remained at the back of his mind.

“What troubles you?” a soothing voice whispered in his ear.

“Not us,” Legolas replied reassuringly, turning around so that he could look at Haldir.

“You still think of him then?” the Guardian asked, mildly curious.

“Yes,” the Prince admitted. “But that is no cause for jealousy,” he quickly added, placing his hand on Haldir’s chest. Legolas carefully chose his words before speaking again. “When the Fellowship was presented before the Lord and the Lady,” he began, “the Lady Galadriel read each of our hearts in turn. I know not what she said to the others, for we chose not to share this most intimate of secrets, but to me she spoke of strength and weakness. I did not understand her words at the time, but now they have become clear to me.” Legolas looked up as he caressed the Guardian’s face with his fingertips. “You are my strength, Haldir,” he said lovingly, “and I have found you only in my moment of greatest weakness. I understand now that there are times when we must surrender ourselves completely to another and trust in their strength and love.”

“The Lady Galadriel is wise indeed,” Haldir chuckled softly, kissing the Prince on the forehead.

“Yes,” Legolas agreed, “but her words carry a deeper meaning. You are not the only one that I have treated unjustly,” he said seriously. “I have harbored bitterness in my heart since my parting with Aragorn, and though the time has been short measured in the way of Elves, it has been many long seasons to a Man.” He sighed. “I have yet to make my peace with him and I know that he is weary from our quest, burdened by responsibility and the weight of his destiny. I have done nothing to ease his cares. On the contrary, I fear that I have added to them. He will need my strength in the dark days to come.”

Legolas had been absently tracing the contours of the Guardian’s chest and forearm as he spoke, finally resting his hand on Haldir’s hip.

“And yet,” he said hesitantly, a familiar mischievous glint in his eye, “when I reflect on that bargain he made upon entering the Golden Wood, I am still overcome with a desire to punish him for his actions.”

“We return to that cursed bargain yet again,” Haldir groaned.

“And I certainly hope that you have learned your lesson,” the Prince playfully chastised, tapping his fingers on the Guardian’s hip.

“I have learnt it well,” Haldir swiftly replied, capturing Legolas’s hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss it. “However,” he continued, “if the sort of lesson you wish to teach the dear Ranger is anything like the one you have taught me, the Man may be scarred for life. Is it not contradictory to punish Aragorn when you wish to make peace with him?”

“It may appear that way at first,” Legolas conceded, “but I believe that I have thought of a way to do both at the same time without scarring Aragorn for life.” He smiled seductively. “I will however, leave my mark on his heart.”

Haldir shook his head, but he could not help smiling at his lover. “You have already done that, you wicked, wicked Elf,” he whispered, pulling the Prince closer.

“No more wicked than you,” Legolas replied with a gentle kiss, draping his leg over the Guardian’s waist. “Will you help me, Haldir?”

“But of course,” was the Guardian’s sly reply.


	4. Lessons Learned and Paths Chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild BDSM

Haldir’s tour of duty at the northern border was scheduled to last another week. Although Legolas would have preferred to return to Caras Galadhon and the company of the Fellowship, he agreed to remain with the Guardian and join his patrol. As professional and vigilant as the Prince and the March Warden behaved while they were on watch, it was clear to the other Elves present that they were really only interested in each other. It amused the Galadhrim to see Haldir behave this way; they could not recall the last time they had seen their proud and cunning Captain act so carefree and young. On the third day, Orophin decided that a talk with his brother was in order. He cornered Haldir at his talan just as his brother was sitting down for his midday meal. Legolas was not around as he and some of the Galadhrim had gone to a nearby stream to refill their water skins.

“Orophin,” Haldir greeted him warmly with a wave of his hand, “come and join me.”

“I’m afraid that I am about to go on watch,” Orophin said regretfully, “but I shall stay for a moment. I wanted to speak with you,” he added, sitting cross-legged opposite his brother and reaching for a slice of apple.

“You wish to speak with me?” the Guardian repeated, growing serious. “That does not bode well. Has something happened? Have you received a new report?”

“Oh, no,” Orophin hurriedly assured him. “Everything is fine.” He should have known that Haldir would automatically think of strategy and safety before anything else. “I wanted to speak to you about . . .” he trailed off, searching for the right word. “You,” he said at last.

“Me?”

“Yes.” Orophin paused. This was not going to be easy. Haldir was looking at him expectantly, a slightly amused smile on his face. The Guardian enjoyed watching his younger brother squirm. “Well,” he began again, “we have noticed–”

“’We’?” Haldir interrupted.

“Myself and a few other Elves,” Orophin revised, “have noticed that you have been rather preoccupied of late.”

“Preoccupied?”

“Yes,” Orophin faltered.

“Do you mean to suggest that I have been distracted?” Haldir questioned. “That I have not been fulfilling my duties as I should?”

“No! Not at all!” Orophin exclaimed. “You could never be faulted for your actions as our leader, our Captain.”

“Then are you implying that my behavior when I am not your leader or your Captain has been inappropriate? That I lack discretion?” Haldir prodded.

“I am not implying anything of the sort!” Orophin replied, growing exasperated. His brother could be so difficult at times.

“Then what are you trying to say?”

“If you would allow me to speak . . .” He glared at his brother’s maddeningly serene expression. “What I am trying to say,” Orophin started again and then stopped. He wanted to wipe that smug, expectant smile off Haldir’s face.

“This is ridiculous,” he finally said. “You took this tour of duty because you wanted to get away from Legolas. Well, now that he is here and everything has clearly been sorted out, I see no reason for the two of you to stay!” he exclaimed. “You are both better off at Caras Galadhon where you will be free to enjoy each other’s company without any constraints on your time. The Prince and his companions will be leaving soon. You cannot live in this suspended reality forever. You should make the most of what time you have left. What do you say?”

“I say that it is a splendid idea,” a voice from behind the two Elves agreed. Orophin turned around to see Legolas step onto the talan carrying two skins of water. “But I do not believe that your noble brother would abandon his duties here so readily,” he added, sitting down in between the two brothers and passing one of the water skins to Haldir.

“There are always exceptions to the rule,” Orophin replied, causing the Prince to laugh at his stubbornness.

“This qualifies as an ‘exception’?” Legolas asked lightly, also taking a piece of fruit from the food laid out on a blanket.

“If I didn’t know you better, brother,” Haldir added, “I would think that you are trying to get rid of me.”

Orophin shook his head disbelievingly. “You two are impossible!” he exclaimed. “Any one else would be thrilled to have this time to themselves. But you’re both too wrapped up in your duties and responsibilities. It is no wonder that you deserve each other.” He shook his head again.

“Your brother makes it sound as though we lead dull lives,” Legolas remarked.

“All work and no play,” Haldir agreed.

Legolas cocked his head to the side and smiled seductively. “I think you play very well, Haldir.”

“As do you,” Haldir returned, placing his hand over the Prince’s hand, where Legolas had begun to journey up the Guardian’s thigh. He held it firmly, preventing Legolas from tempting him further, but that did not stop him from leaning over for a kiss.

Orophin was amused by their actions, happy that his brother had found someone so like in mind and spirit, but as the kiss deepened, the Lórien Elf found himself averting his eyes in mild embarrassment. The two lovers had become completely oblivious to his presence. He coughed loudly and said, “These sort of games are best played in Caras Galadhon, don’t you think?”

The two Elves broke apart and looked at him.

“I do believe that your brother has a point,” Legolas said thoughtfully. He turned to face Haldir. “Caras Galadhon is an excellent playing field,” he said, “and we have yet to recruit another member for our next game.”

“Ah, yes,” the Guardian agreed, suddenly remembering their little plan. “He does not strike me as a team player.”

“In general, he is not,” the Prince admitted. “Unless of course, he is the team captain!” At this statement, the Mirkwood Elf let out a musical laugh and the Guardian could not help but smile. “I am sure that we can coax him to play,” Legolas added mischievously. “I can be quite persuasive when I put my mind to it.”

By now, Orophin had completely lost the thread of conversation and he shuddered to think about the poor soul who appeared to be the next victim on the two lovers’ agenda. It was clear to him that the Prince of Mirkwood was just as cunning and skillful as his brother in this arena. They were well matched in more ways than one.

“I take it then,” Orophin said tentatively, “that you will be returning to the city to join your ‘teammate’?”

Legolas laughed again, throwing Haldir a questioning look.

“If we do return,” the Guardian said seriously, “the patrol will be short one member.”

“As difficult as it may be for you to believe,” Orophin replied in a slightly testy manner, “we will survive lacking one member. If it distresses you so much,” he added, “you can send a replacement or two when you arrive at the city.”

Haldir looked as though he wished to tease his brother a while longer but thought better of it. He and Orophin had come to blows in the past regarding leadership responsibilities. Haldir was the senior Captain and Orophin still felt that his older brother was too protective of him, even though he was an experienced tracker and hardened warrior in his own right. The March Warden let this opportunity to grate on his brother’s nerves go by. He knew that Orophin could handle the patrol on his own and it would be simple enough to send a replacement as his brother had suggested. It also helped that the idea of returning to Caras Galadhon greatly appealed to him. Meanwhile, Legolas flashed Orophin a winning smile.

“If you will excuse me,” Orophin said, standing up. “I was due for my watch five minutes ago.”

“Thank you for stopping by,” Legolas said as he picked up another slice of fresh fruit that he brought to Haldir’s mouth.

The Lórien Elf bowed slightly before turning around and walking to the rope ladder. As he descended the ladder, he couldn’t help but notice that his brother had pulled the Prince onto his lap, even as Legolas continued to feed him another slice of fruit. Orophin suspected that he knew whom his brother intended to have for desert.

~*~*~*~

The Prince and the Guardian left the northern border shortly after lunch. Haldir consulted with his brother and the remaining Elves one last time, never letting on that he was eager to be off. Indeed, if one listened to the March Warden’s parting instructions, one would have thought that his departure was a burden rather than a moment of joy. But Legolas knew better. As he solemnly watched Haldir, the Guardian’s subdued gray eyes would light with a flash of anticipation whenever their eyes met, and the barest fey smile would ghost Legolas’s own lips.

The two Elves did not tarry on their way back to the city, stopping only once at the mound of Cerin Amroth shortly before dusk. This time Legolas sped up the gray rope ladder that led to the white flet in the center of the circle of crowned trees with Haldir in hot pursuit. Before the Prince could pull the rope ladder up behind him, the Guardian had already climbed it and tackled the younger Elf onto the talan floor. A friendly scuffle ensued that ended with Haldir pinning the Prince to the floor.

The March Warden leaned over his lover and said, “Why do you give in and act submissive when I know that you are not?”

“Because I do not wish to fight you,” Legolas answered, leaning upwards for a kiss. Haldir obliged by meeting the Prince halfway and promptly found himself on his back. “Battle is more than just a physical fight. It is a psychological state and I enjoy matching wits with you,” Legolas whispered before kissing the Guardian again.

“Then you must be truly fearsome in battle,” Haldir said breathlessly when the kiss ended. He ran his hand down Legolas’ back, pausing to cup a firm buttock and then shifted his attentions to the growing bulge in between the Prince’s legs. “I see that you are already armed,” he noted with a smirk.

“You have also drawn your weapon,” Legolas replied, rubbing his knee against Haldir’s straining member. “Shall I sheathe you with my sword?” he asked, licking the tip of a pointed ear. “Or drink you like a fine wine?”

“Must we rush into combat so quickly?” the Guardian playfully chastised, pushing the Prince away. “Before battle and celebration, there are preparations to be done.”

“And what would those preparations be?” Legolas asked innocently as he allowed Haldir to roll on top of him, reversing their positions again.

“Do you not know?” Haldir questioned. “I did not think Mirkwood education to be so sorely lacking,” he continued while nimble fingers undid the laces of the Prince’s tunic.

“Who better to teach me then, than a master of the arts?” Legolas said, his own hands traveling onto the Guardian’s clothed chest. “What should we do first?”

“Weapons must be sharpened and oiled,” Haldir answered, pulling off the Prince’s tunic, “ensuring the smoothness of entry. But first they must be divested of their sheaths and scabbards so the beauty of their craft may be seen and scrutinized.” The Prince’s silver-gray shirt soon followed and the Guardian’s eyes roamed over the younger Elf’s finely sculpted chest.

“Do my assets meet with your approval?” Legolas asked coyly.

“They are satisfactory,” Haldir replied.

“Satisfactory?” Legolas had to suppress a laugh. “Very well, Lórien Elf. Let us see what _you_ have to show.” In a swift movement, the Prince had the March Warden on his back again, straddling his waist as his hands set to work on the laces of the Guardian’s tunic.

“You are very good at that,” Haldir commented, slightly winded as Legolas stripped him of his upper clothes. Then the Prince laid his body over the Guardian’s and Haldir instinctively wrapped his arms around the Mirkwood Elf, sharing their body warmth as a cool autumn breeze blew through the trees. 

Legolas rested his chin on Haldir’s chest and smiled. “What do we do next, O wise one?”

Haldir chuckled at the Prince’s sarcastic tone. “I should punish you for your impudence,” he said at last.

“Punish me?” Legolas repeated, eyes bright with expectation. “That sounds delightful. But perhaps we should save that for another time. There will be more than enough ‘punishment’ going on tonight.”

“Indeed,” the Guardian agreed, sobering slightly. “You should save your strength for tonight’s activities.”

Legolas sat up in shock. “Save my strength?” he exclaimed. “Do you doubt the famed stamina of your race?”

“Prove it to me then,” Haldir challenged.

~*~*~*~

The March Warden was considerably sorer when he passed through the great gates of Caras Galadhon a few hours later, mildly thankful that he would not be doing the bulk of the ‘punishing’ that eve. The two Elves returned to Haldir’s quarters to freshen themselves, just in time for the evening meal. As the Guardian sat behind the Prince and braided his hair, he noted how calm and at peace his lover was. No nervous tension or apprehension emanated from the Mirkwood Elf. Legolas was ready, and Haldir felt that tonight’s experience would be beneficial for all. When the last braid was complete, Legolas turned around and smiled at him. They were sitting cross-legged in the middle of Haldir’s bed.

“You should go now,” the Guardian advised. “Otherwise you will be late.”

“You are not coming with me?” Legolas said in surprise.

“No,” Haldir answered. “I think it would be best if I saw to tonight’s preparations. There are some materials that I need to find.”

“You mean you do not have a spare set of chains lying about?” the Prince asked in mock shock.

Haldir arched an eyebrow. “We need more than two, remember?”

“Yes,” Legolas agreed. “Do not forget the rope, the robes and the wine, especially the wine. And you need to find someplace secluded, where screams cannot be heard, or at the very least muffled.”

Haldir shrugged. “We could always gag him.”

“True.” The Prince smiled. “But he has such a lovely mouth. We should put it to better use.”

“As you wish.”

Legolas slid to the side of the bed, where he put on his lights boots and then stood up. “I shall see you later then?”

“Under the stars,” Haldir answered. With a last smile, the Prince left the room.

~*~*~*~

The Fellowship was overjoyed to see their companion again, even though Legolas had only been gone for a few days. The Prince received a welcoming hug from each of the Hobbits and a small word of reprimand from Pippin, who chastised him for leaving so abruptly without giving leave.

“But I have returned just as quickly and unexpectedly,” Legolas argued good-naturedly. “Doesn’t the swiftness and suddenness of my return make up for my departure?”

Pippin thought this over for a moment and then said quite firmly, “No.”

The Elf laughed. “Then I shall make it up to you, Peregrin Took,” he declared.

The booming voice of the Dwarf greeted them from behind as Gimli said, “Our companion is an Elf of his word. I did not think that I would live to see the day!” The Dwarf stood in front of his fair friend with his hands on his hips as he appraised the Elf. Then he raised his bushy eyebrows. “I trust all is well?” he inquired.

“It is very well,” Legolas answered.

“And who do you have to thank for that?” Gimli prodded.

The Prince bent down and dropped his voice as he said, “The weather.”

The Dwarf let out a loud guffaw, while Pippin shook his head. He thought Elves and Dwarves were both strange creatures. The Hobbit was convinced that his two companions spoke their own language when they were together. It merely sounded like the Common Tongue.

Boromir approached the Elf next and greeted him with a firm warrior’s handshake that Legolas returned; gently squeezing the Man’s shoulder with his other hand.

“It is good to see you, Boromir,” Legolas said warmly. “How do you fare?”

“I am well, Legolas,” Boromir answered. “The ways of your people are still strange to me,” he admitted, “but Lothlórien is both beautiful and mysterious, and here I have found a measure of peace.”

“That is as it should be,” Legolas said, holding the Man’s gaze for a moment. He saw nothing but kindness and nobility in the gray eyes and was pleased. He released Boromir’s arm and turned to face Aragorn who stood a little to the side.

As Legolas walked towards the Ranger, Aragorn extended his arm in the same warrior’s greeting that Boromir had just done. Once again, the Prince grasped the proffered forearm, but instead of maintaining the formal cordiality, the Elf pulled the Man into a warm embrace. The Ranger was completely taken by surprise and it took a moment for him to return the gesture, hesitantly at first, then with genuine sincerity.

“We should talk later,” the Elf whispered as they broke apart.

Aragorn was disarmed by the Prince’s enchanting smile. There was something different about Legolas tonight, as though the friend he once knew had come back to him. It warmed his heart and he nodded in return.

The evening meal proved to be quite entertaining as the Company was in high spirits. It dawned on each member of the Fellowship that they only felt whole when they were together; that the bonds that had been forged among them were deep and strong. For the first time, Legolas sat next to Aragorn. This, together with the Elf’s unusually affectionate greeting should have raised the Man’s suspicions, but the Ranger was too happy in the Prince’s change of demeanor to care. It also helped that Legolas kept refilling his wine goblet before it could even become half empty. At the end of the meal, as the others went their separate ways for more food and song or to retire for the night, the Elf and the Ranger found themselves alone at the table.

Legolas sighed in contentment and glanced up at the twinkling canopy of stars. They succinctly reminded him of something and he smiled to himself.

“You have had quite a bit of wine tonight,” the Elf commented, but this remark did not prevent him from refilling the Man’s goblet yet again. Then he poured the remainder of the wine into his own goblet before turning to face the Ranger. “I think a walk would be a good idea for us both,” he suggested, standing up elegantly and waiting for the Man to follow suit.

“Mustn’t forget the wine,” Aragorn added, picking up his goblet as he stood up. “We should not let it go to waste.”

Legolas smiled inwardly. It was working to his advantage that the Ranger had grown so fond of Lórien wine. He is also fighting old demons, the Elf concluded as the pair made their way into the woods. However, the Prince would see to it that his old friend no longer faced his demons alone.

~*~*~*~

When the March Warden entered what he now considered to be the infamous clearing of revelations, he found the Prince and the Ranger exactly where he expected them to be, sitting at the base of the large mallorn tree where the three of them had met on that first night in Caras Galadhon. Haldir shook his head as he approached the two. So much had changed since then, but it still strangely felt the same. Perhaps it was because he brought a bottle of wine with him, another one of his ‘special’ home brews; perhaps it was because Legolas was still carrying out his dastardly plan and this time he had a willing accomplice; perhaps it was because he knew that the game was not finished yet, but after this night, the rules would be forever changed.

Haldir!” Legolas waved him over, eyes shining brightly.

“I have been looking for you,” the Guardian replied as he joined them, sitting down next to the Prince.

“Well, you have found me then. Us,” Legolas corrected, glancing at the Ranger. “It is fortunate that you have found us,” he continued, “because Aragorn is in need of more wine and I do believe that you are carrying a bottle of his vice.”

“A bottle of my vice?” Aragorn repeated, laughing. “It shall not be for long, I assure you. Since you have brought it up, Legolas,” he continued, “you have been remarkably helpful in keeping my cup full tonight. One might even say that you are trying to get me drunk.”

The Prince arched an eyebrow. “What a novel idea,” he commented, giving Haldir a sideways wink as he opened the bottle.

“Is this another one of your home brews?” Aragorn asked the March Warden as Legolas filled his cup to the brim.

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Haldir answered, watching intently as the Man sipped the wine. The taste met the Ranger’s approval and Aragorn took a deeper draught. “It is more potent than the previous wine you sampled,” the Guardian added, glancing at Legolas.

The Prince was also watching the Ranger intently and his smile grew wider as the Man took two more deep gulps, emptying almost half the goblet.

“Aye, that is true,” Aragorn agreed, “but it is a fine wine. I thank you for sharing this with us. You are truly an Elf of many talents, Haldir,” he praised.

“An Elf of many talents,” Legolas repeated mischievously, quickly refilling the Man’s goblet.

Aragorn continued to drink his wine as the Elves carried on the light conversation. He was too content to notice that Haldir had not brought a glass for himself, or that Legolas did not touch the wine. It was not long before he felt his eyelids grow heavy. He wished to excuse himself from their company, but his mouth refused to co-operate. Sleep was rapidly coming over him. The last thing he remembered was Legolas’ lovely face and the Elf’s concerned voice drifting from far away to ask if he was feeling all right.

~*~*~*~

When the Ranger came to, he was greeted with a throbbing head. The evening’s events came rushing back to him, in particular the amount of wine he had drunk and he inwardly groaned. He did not know what had come over him; he was normally very disciplined when it came to that sort of indulgence, but Lothlórien had a way of bringing down his defenses. He would merely sleep this off and probably feel considerably worse in the morning.

Aragorn meant to stand up and return to the pavilion, but found that he couldn’t. In fact, he was no longer at the clearing he vaguely remembered. Instead, he was in a room that he did not recognize, sitting in a chair with his ankles securely bound to the two front chair legs and his arms tied behind him. After futilely struggling against his bonds for a moment, he opened his mouth to call out, only to discover that he had been gagged. The Man groaned in frustration. Who would be devious enough to do this to him? he wondered. The answer came quickly -- Legolas.

As if on cue, the Elf appeared from somewhere to his left and stood in front of the glaring Man. Aragorn’s consternation only served to widen the devilish grin on the Prince’s face.

“Aragorn,” Legolas said in his loveliest voice, “you look most displeased. No doubt you are wondering where you are and what you are doing here. This,” he said with a wave of his hand, “is Orophin’s bedchamber. He does not know that we are borrowing his room for the night, but Haldir assures me that his brother will not mind. It is further away from the heart of the city and we are less likely to be disturbed.” Legolas walked towards the Man and eased himself into the Ranger’s lap, placing his hands on the backrest on either side of Aragorn’s head. He leaned forward and whispered, “I wanted someplace secluded for tonight’s activities.”

“Teasing him already?” a voice behind them asked.

Aragorn could not see the March Warden, but he could feel the Elf’s presence. Legolas’s eyes lit up at the sound of the Guardian’s voice and he looked up with an impish smile on his face.

“I cannot resist,” the Prince admitted. “It is a rare sight to see the King of Men bound this way and at our mercy. Rather delightful, if I do say so myself.” Then he returned his attention to the still-seething Man. “Now that you know where you are, I shall tell you why you are here.”

Legolas paused for dramatic effect and Haldir had to stifle a laugh. Who knew that the Prince could be so theatrical? Together they would put on a memorable show.

“I wish to make my peace with you,” Legolas began gravely, eyes growing serious, “as I should have done many years ago.” Then he leaned forward again and whispered in the Ranger’s ear, “But before peace comes punishment, and I have not forgotten the bargain that you made upon entering the Golden Wood.”

“Yes, Dúnadan,” Haldir’s silky voice whispered in the Ranger’s other ear. “You remember our wager and the gauntlet that you threw down to me. Would you like to see the consequences of your actions?”

Aragorn felt that he had little choice in the matter as Legolas stood up and Haldir joined his lover, both Elves standing no more than five paces from the bound man. The Prince stood facing the Ranger, as calm and regal as the Man could ever remember seeing his old friend. Behind Legolas stood Haldir, a familiar glint in the Guardian’s eye that Aragorn recognized from that first fateful day.

“This,” Haldir said, hands running down the Prince’s slim frame, “was the price that you paid for passage through the Golden Wood. It is easy to look upon such beauty and be overcome with a desire to possess it, to objectify it as another conquest. That was my mistake.”

Legolas remained silent, giving no indication that Haldir’s words had affected him in any way. Distant and aloof, the Mirkwood Elf directed his full attention at the Man and Aragorn felt the weight of his gaze.

“But your crime, Dúnadan,” Haldir continued, “was far worse. I have been punished for my shallow narrow-mindedness, but you – you betrayed the trust of one of your companions, the trust of your first love. I know that it was desperation that lead you to do it,” the Guardian added. “We are not here to judge, but to learn from the consequences of our actions.” The March Warden paused and a wicked smile graced his golden features.

“Lesson number one,” he began, “you must see what it is that you bartered.”

With these words, the Guardian undid the laces of the Prince’s tunic, discarding the forest green material. Legolas held him arms to the side as Haldir unfastened the clasps on his leather gauntlets and the arm braces fell to the floor without a sound. Then Haldir slipped his hands under the Prince’s silver gray shirt before pulling the light fabric over his head. Legolas’ hair fell perfectly back into place, settling over his shoulders and back as though they had never been disturbed. Haldir rested his hands on the Prince’s waist and caught the Ranger’s eye.

“Lesson number two,” he continued, “you must remember that beneath this beauty, there is a being capable of great love and passion.”

The March Warden pulled the Prince’s flaxen mane over his left shoulder and kissed the column of exposed neck. Legolas titled his head and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Haldir’s soft lips against his skin. Hands roamed across his chest and torso; Legolas’ heartbeat quickened as Haldir traveled deeper, drawing lazy circles on his pelvic bone, massaging the sensitive juncture between pelvis and thigh, finally resting his hand on the growing bulge in between the Prince’s legs.

“Lesson number three,” Haldir said, cupping the straining flesh in his hand, “there is no shame in submitting to those you love.”

Then the Guardian moved in front of the other Elf and knelt before him, opening the Prince’s breeches and taking Legolas’ length into his mouth. Legolas gasped as the moist, warm mouth surrounded him, and his hand inadvertently fell on the Guardian’s shoulder as Haldir increased his pace, alternately massaging the shaft with his tongue and teasing the slit at the tip. The Prince’s grip on the Guardian’s shoulder grew painfully tight and Haldir reluctantly stopped his actions. The Lórien Elf looked up and met the Prince’s indigo eyes and knew exactly what Legolas wished to do.

Haldir stood up gracefully as Legolas took hold of his hand. He did not remain on his feet for long as Legolas pulled them both to the floor, lying lengthwise to ensure that the Ranger had the best possible view. Haldir crouched at the Prince’s feet and removed his lightweight boots, then moved up the Elf’s slender frame to pull the breeches off the Prince’s raised hips. Legolas turned his head to meet Aragorn’s eyes. The gray orbs had turned black with desire, devouring the naked figure before him. Legolas had not changed since their time together and in the candle-lit room the Elf’s body became even more enticingly beautiful.

“Lesson number four,” Haldir said, drawing the Man’s attention to the Guardian’s actions once more, “pleasuring the one you love is a reward in itself.”

Haldir lifted the Prince’s left leg and began nibbling on Legolas’ ankle, working his way up with gentle kisses and nips as he draped the Prince’s leg over his shoulder, finally reaching his desired goal. He paused for a moment to give Legolas a wicked smile before diving down and engulfing the neglected organ with his welcoming mouth. The Prince arched into the tight heat of Haldir’s throat. The Guardian had taken him impossibly deep and he knew that he would not last for long. He reached down and ran his hands through Haldir’s silky hair. The Lórien Elf did not need guidance; he knew exactly how to please his lover, but Legolas wished to prolong the experience and so he attempted to slow the pace.

Aragorn watched their intimate activities with a growing desire to participate, or at the very least, to relieve himself of his own passion. But the Elves had bound him securely to his chair, making his struggles ineffectual. Heat had pooled in his groin as the Guardian had slowly stripped the Prince of his clothes, and by the time Haldir had taken Legolas into this mouth, Aragorn’s own erection had grown uncomfortably tight within his breeches. Watching the golden Elves now, the Ranger would have cried out with frustration, if only he had not been gagged. As it was, his breathing sounded harsh and heavy to his ears. He ached to be touched. To his over-sensitized flesh, a single touch would have granted him release.

Legolas was also nearing his peak and as Haldir increased his pace, the Prince could hold back no longer, spilling his seed into the Guardian’s mouth as he murmured nonsensical Elvish phrases. He continued to run his fingers through Haldir’s hair as the Guardian released his softening flesh, patiently licking him clean, before moving up to kiss the Prince. Legolas welcomed the kiss, running his hands up and down Haldir’s clothed back, even as he tasted himself in their kiss.

“You have not yet relieved yourself,” Legolas whispered when the kiss ended, feeling a distinct hardness against his inner thigh.

“Later,’ Haldir said in return. “We must take care of Aragorn first.”

The Man in question had not seen the Elves kiss; shutting his eyes the minute Legolas had reached his peak. The scene had become too unbearable to watch. He sat with his eyes still closed, concentrating on curbing his own ragged breathing. Therefore, the image of the two golden Elves was the last thing he remembered before a strong acidic smell was placed under his nose and he lost conscious for the second time that night.

~*~*~*~

When Aragorn regained consciousness, a feeling of déjà vu washed over him. The softly lit candle-filled room attested to the fact that it was still night, but instead of being strapped to the chair that he vividly remembered, he was lying stark naked on a large, soft bed. His limbs felt numb and when he tried to move, he discovered that he was still bound, spread eagle fashioned onto the four posts of the great bed. It appeared that the punishment was not yet over. Aragorn continued to test the strength of his bonds in order to find out how much mobility he had been given this time.

“Do not struggle,” a familiar voice said gently. “You will only hurt yourself. They are mithril chains.”

Legolas came into view wearing one of the silver-gray Lórien robes that highlighted the tiny flecks of silver in his clear blue eyes. He sat on the bed next to the chained Man and smiled.

“How do you feel?” the Elf asked.

“As well as can be expected,” the Ranger replied, “for someone who has been drugged, bound to a chair, forced to witness a lascivious act, drugged again and now chained to a bed.” The Man ended his rebuke with a fierce glare.

“At least I have removed your gag,” Legolas said in his calm manner, unperturbed by the Man’s hostile response.

“How very kind of you,” Aragorn said sarcastically.

“Aragorn,” Legolas said, lilting the Man’s name, “your punishment is over. You need not be so upset. I am making my peace with you.”

“You have an odd way of making peace, Legolas,” the Ranger answered, jerking one of his chains to emphasize his point.

“What have you learnt?” Legolas asked, ignoring the Man’s previous comment. “The lessons,” the Elf prodded when the Ranger did not respond. “Lesson number one,” the Prince started and then stopped, waiting for the Man to finish his sentence.

“I must see what it is I bartered,” Aragorn answered in spite of himself.

As if obeying a command, the Elf stood up and untied his robe, allowing it to slip to the floor and pool at his feet. He too was naked underneath it.

“Lesson number two,” the Prince continued.

“Beneath this beauty is a being capable of great love and passion,” the Ranger finished, waiting with baited breath as the Elf slid onto the bed and straddled the Man’s waist.

“Lesson number three?”

“There is no shame in submitting to those you love.”

Legolas lay down and rested his chin on top of his clasped hands as he looked intently at the Man.

“That is the reason behind the chains, Estel,” the Prince explained, reverting to the name that Aragorn had gone by in his youth. “Tonight you will submit to me and everything I do, I do to please you. Lesson number four: pleasuring the one you love is a reward in itself.”

“Do you love me, Legolas?”

“I never stopped,” the Elf whispered.

The Man closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. For too long had he wondered where the Elf’s affections lay. How he wished that he could relive the past and forget about the quest that was before them. His time with Legolas had been short but it had been pure bliss. He wished that it had not ended that way. He wanted the Elf to know that he had never taken the Prince’s love for granted, nor thrown it away so thoughtlessly, though his actions conveyed otherwise. As if reading the Man’s thoughts, Legolas placed a finger over the Ranger’s lips.

“We will not speak about that now,” he said. “Tonight is about remembrance. It is about celebrating what we once shared – a love so strong and pure that it consumed and ultimately ruined me. Do not fret, Estel,” Legolas assured, seeing the worry in the Man’s eyes. “From the ruins of our past, a new foundation is being built and it will stand the test of time. In a way,” the Elf chuckled softly, “I have your indiscretion to thank for it.” Legolas smiled warmly and let his head rest on the Ranger’s broad chest. “Do you still think of us?” he asked.

“I often think of us,” Aragorn answered. “Our estrangement has been a constant distraction during this quest. I have missed your friendship, your counsel and your comforting presence.”

“You shall have them again,” Legolas promised. “I am here to help you, Estel, not add to your burdens. But tell me,” he said, “do you remember how it once was between us?”

“I remember vividly.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember long summer days and warm winter nights. I remember archery lessons and hunting trips; sleeping under the stars and bathing in clear pools.”

“It is good to know that you do remember that,” the Elf cut it, “for I have found your personal hygiene to be sorely lacking during our quest. To make matters worse, you have acquired that filthy habit of smoking pipe weed!”

The Man began to laugh. “Yes,” he agreed. “It is very relaxing.”

The Elf looked up with an expression of clear distaste. “I doubt that it is more relaxing than one of my massages.”

“Ah,” the Ranger sighed, drifting into another pleasant memory. “I _do_ remember those.” 

“What else do you remember?”

“I remember waking up beside you and being showered by kisses. I remember your scent, the smell of fresh spring and morning dew. I remember your touch and how you could arouse me with the slightest action.”

As Aragorn spoke, Legolas lifted himself off the Man’s chest and began kissing a line across the Ranger’s collarbone.

“I remember your hands,” the Man continued. “Such skilled and knowing hands that caressed and mapped every part of my body.”

At these words, the Elf sat up and ran his hands down the Man’s chest, traveling back up his sides, bending over to lovingly massage the Ranger’s pinned arms.

“I remember your mouth,” Aragorn said, “and your soft lips grazing over my body.”

Legolas smiled as he kissed a chained wrist and then worked his way down the Man’s right arm, pausing to rub his cheek against Aragorn’s rough beard.

“I remember that you were fascinated with my facial hair,” the Ranger mused, “and the hair on my body. You called it fur!” he said, laughing gently.

The Elf also chuckled lightly as he kissed the Man’s neck and then moved downwards, skimming over the nipples with his teeth, letting his tongue tangle with the slight ‘fur’ on Aragorn’s chest. All the while, his hands continued their exploratory actions, quickly remembering all of his former lover’s sensitive spots such as the point just above the Man’s left hip, the minor pressure extended on his right shoulder blade and the small of his back, making Aragorn pliant and willing under his touch. Legolas smiled to himself as he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked gently, causing the Man to let out a long moan. He had not even gone below the Ranger’s waist yet!

“Tell me, Estel,” Legolas breathed, releasing the nipple and shifting lower. “What else do you remember?”

“I remember how you liked to tease,” Aragorn said with a sigh as Legolas nipped his hip bone and moved lower, purposely avoiding his now aching shaft. The Elf’s hands followed, running along the Ranger’s muscular legs, easing the knots in Aragorn’s calves as Legolas continued to kiss the inside of the Man’s thigh. Aragorn shifted underneath him, trying to bring his erection into contact with the Elf, but Legolas persistently paid attention to any area but the Man’s straining organ.

“Legolas,” the Ranger said urgently.

“Yes, Estel?”

“I remember,” the Man continued breathlessly, “that when I could take no more of your teasing, you would relieve me.”

Obeying the unspoken command, the Elf swiftly took the large organ in his mouth, sucking gently. Aragorn arched into the wet heat, feeling the mild pressure of Legolas’ hands on his hips as the Elf pushed him back onto the bed. Just as quickly as Aragorn had been engulfed, the Elf pulled away and the Man cried out in disappointment.

“Why do you stop?” he exclaimed.

“How can I continue when I do not know what it is that you remember?” Legolas asked, arching an eyebrow.

Aragorn wanted to laugh. How he had missed this playful lovemaking! It was so unlike the chaste kisses and peaceful moments that he shared with his betrothed. Legolas had always been fire and passion and both had not cooled with the passing of seasons. A wicked smile of his own crept across the Man’s face as he spoke again.

“I remember how you would take me into your mouth,” he began. “A little at a time, until I could feel silky hair brushing against my thighs. I remember your tongue as it wrapped around my flesh, milking it with your motions. I remember how you would start slowly and then increase your pace.”

Legolas followed the Man’s instructions as he gave them, making it increasingly difficult for Aragorn to think, let alone speak.

“Teeth,” he murmured. “I remember the gentle scrape of teeth, threatening pain but only giving pleasure. I remember that tightening feeling as I neared my peak. Your throat,” he whispered, as the Elf took him even deeper. “I remember spilling so deep within you that you had no choice but to swallow my seed.”

Indeed, Legolas had taken the Man impossibly deep, almost to the point of gagging. He knew that Aragorn would come soon and timing it perfectly, he let the Man’s seed slide down his throat, not even tasting its salt and bitterness.

Aragorn lay panting on the bed, dark brown hair moist with sweat against his forehead and face. It had been too long since he had been pleasured in this way. Legolas moved up the bed and rested his chin on the Ranger’s chest, resuming his former position and smiling at the contented Man.

“You remember well, Estel,” Legolas said approvingly.

“I may not have the perfect memory of the Eldar,” Aragorn replied, “but that is not all I remember.”

“No?” the Elf inquired.

“I remember your kiss,” the Man said seriously, watching as a shadow flitted across the Elf’s clear eyes. Knowing what this simple gesture meant to Legolas, he did not expect a response. Therefore, nothing could have pleased him more when the Prince leaned forward and pressed his lips against the Man, gently at first, and then with greater pressure.

 _Open for me_ , Aragorn thought silently, not wishing to frighten Legolas away. The bold flick of his tongue was all the incentive Legolas needed to open his mouth and slide his tongue against the Man’s. The kiss deepened and Aragorn pulled his chains in his desire to wrap his arms around the Elf. To his disappointment, Legolas broke away.

“You will hurt yourself,” the Elf said with concern.

“I want to touch you,” the Man insisted.

“Later,” Legolas promised, eyes dark with renewed passion and Aragorn knew that the Elf was not yet through with his game. “Do you know what I remember?” Legolas whispered hotly into his ear. “I remember what it was like to touch that part of you that no one else had touched before; to show you pleasure that you did not think existed. I remember what it felt like to be inside you, driving to completion, filling you, burning you, making you scream. Do you remember this?” The Elf drew away to look into the Man’s eyes and gauge his reaction. 

“I remember,” Aragorn replied. It had been many years and he had not lain with another male since his time with Legolas. 

The Prince could see the slight apprehension in the gray eyes and guessed the reason behind it. The Ranger would not refuse him, but he did not want the Man to feel pressured. The Elf decided to try another avenue.

“Do you remember what it felt like to be inside me?” he asked, brushing his lips against the Man’s. “To be welcomed by tightness and heat unlike anything that you have experienced before; to touch the core of my very being? To be one with me?” Legolas paused. “Should I remind you?”

“Perhaps you should,” Aragorn said softly, hesitantly, his voice nevertheless laced with desire. He had grown hard again while listening to the Elf speak, images of their time together filling his mind. He understood that this would be their last night together; that when the Fellowship left Lothlórien they would journey together not as lovers, but as friends – the closest and most loyal of friends. This was what Legolas meant by making peace with his former lover and Aragorn would not deny them this final union. “Let me come inside you, Legolas,” he asked tenderly. “Will you grant me this last gift?”

“Yes, Aragorn. I will.”

The Prince reached over and picked up a small corked bottle on the bedside table. He opened it and poured a lavish amount of oil onto the palm of his hand. With a fey smile, he kissed the Man again and reached in between their bodies to grasp the Ranger’s firm shaft. Legolas coated Aragorn liberally with smooth and even strokes as their tongues continued to tangle. At last, the Elf pulled away and locked eyes with the Man as he shifted downwards, preparing to impale himself on the hard shaft. He knew that this would hurt for Aragorn was well-endowed and there had been no opportunity to properly stretch his narrow passage, but he pushed these thoughts aside. They were unimportant given the significance of the act. It seemed fitting somehow, that his last union with Aragorn would be marked by pain – the history of their relationship was shadowed by it and would continue to be. Pain at their bitter parting, pain at the knowledge of the Man’s mortality, grief at Aragorn’s eventual passing. Legolas had chosen a bitter love, but he would not abandon it.

Grasping the Man’s hips, Legolas eased himself down. He looked away, golden hair hiding his face. He did not wish for Aragorn to see the grimace that marred his features. He lifted himself and pushed down again, repeating the motion several times until Aragorn groaned when he was completely inside the Elf. Legolas leaned forward for another kiss, giving his body time to adjust to the considerable girth within him and Aragorn met him as far as his chains would allow. For a moment, the Ranger considered asking the Elf to release him from his shackles, but decided against it. There was something unbearably erotic about being completely at the Prince’s mercy. It had never been this way between them before and it would never be again. Deep down inside, Aragorn knew that this was Legolas’ ultimate gift and punishment. The Dúnadan was being offered the forbidden fruit and after tasting it for the last time, his future with Legolas would be sealed.

The Prince could see the torn emotions in the Man’s gray eyes and he said softly as he drew away, “Do not be sad. We are ending, but we are also starting anew. I will always be with you, Elessar.”

The Elf drew out the Man’s name and Aragorn could feel the weight of his destiny surrounding and enveloping them. Never before had Legolas spoken that name, and to hear its syllables caressed by the Elf’s beautiful voice gave him strength. Whatever challenges remained on their path, they would face them together and the Ranger took comfort in that.

Legolas had begun to move, instantly setting Aragorn’s body aflame. The Elf set a deliberately languorous pace, removing one hand from the Man’s hip to stroke his own shaft in time with his movements. The pressure of an added weight made the bed sink deeper.

“Let me do that for you,” a voice whispered in the Prince’s ear.

Legolas let his head fall back on the Guardian’s shoulder as Haldir pressed his body against the other Elf, one hand taking up the actions on the Prince’s shaft, the other wrapped around his waist to steady him. Legolas was driving deeper now, seeking that spot inside him that would make him scream. When the Elf cried out, both his lovers knew that he had found it.

Aragorn watched the two Elves as though from a dream. His senses were heightened and Legolas’ sweat-sheened skin seemed luminescent in the candlelight. The slighter Elf was being embraced by the Guardian, who was nibbling along the column of the Prince’s neck, never ceasing his actions on the Prince’s shaft. They were so beautiful together. So perfect. No jealousy clouded his heart, only love. He felt his sacs tighten as his orgasm steadily built within him and with a great shout he came. Legolas came soon after and he let himself rest against the Guardian, turning his head for a kiss. Aragorn was completely spent, still trembling from his release. He felt very tired and the desire to sleep was overwhelming him. As his eyelids closed, he could see the Elves kissing tenderly and he felt at peace.

~*~*~*~

Aragorn turned over in his sleep. There was a warm body next to him and he instinctively snuggled against it, wrapping his arm around it and pulling the person closer. He buried his face in silky, long hair and inhaled deeply. A woodsy fragrance mixed with the fresh scent of morning dew entered the Ranger’s nostrils triggering a familiar memory. _Legolas._

Instantly, Aragorn opened his eyes. It was still dark and this was no dream. The Prince indeed lay beside him, sleeping peacefully. The Man tried to piece together his fragmented memories. The evening had begun with Legolas’s welcome return and the merry dinner; a walk, Haldir’s appearance, a bottle of wine. Events quickly degenerated from there. He remembered the chair and the bonds, the Elves’ little show, the bed and the chains. Now he laid here, the soreness around his wrists and the dull ache around his joints, a testament to their previous acts. None of that mattered as long as Legolas lay in his arms. He wished that he could suspend time and live in this moment forever.

“I cannot bear to have you leave me,” the Man said so faintly that he thought he had only mouthed the words.

“Where am I going?”

The Ranger smiled ruefully. The Elf was awake. He should have known better.

“We will be separated one day,” Aragorn answered sadly. “Whether it is through my mortality or the call of the sea.”

Legolas turned around so that he could look at his lover. “The Sea does not call me, Aragorn.”

“Perhaps not at this time,” the Ranger conceded, “but it may in the future. I have heard that once the sea-longing strikes a chord within the heart of a Wood Elf, they will not find peace until they heed its call. To ignore it would drive them to madness and despair.”

“That shall not be my fate,” Legolas assured him.

“No,” Aragorn agreed, “but neither do I believe that it is your fate to fade in these lands with the last of your kin. Your beauty and light must live on, Legolas. One day you will sail over Sea.”

The Elf thought for a moment before speaking. “I promise you, Aragorn,” he said solemnly, “that day shall not come until you leave these lands. Should the sea-longing reach my heart, I shall silence it to remain with you. It will not drive me to madness for I will only find peace when you are at peace. That is the path I have chosen.”

The Prince brushed away the moisture that had gathered in the Ranger’s eyes with his fingers before leaning up to kiss him. “Sleep now,” he whispered, holding the Man close. “I will be here when you wake.”

Aragorn soon fell into a deep sleep, wrapped in the arms of a being he loved dearly. Though the road before them was dark and uncertain, hope still remained. The burden of his destiny had been lightened and together with it the burden on his heart. Whatever the future held for them, he knew that Legolas would always be there.

~*~*~*~

Legolas was indeed there when the Man awoke and the Elf was not alone. The Prince had let the Ranger sleep in after the Man’s exhausting night, but the enticing smell of smoked ham and fresh fruit juice began to invade Aragorn’s dreams. As the breakfast aroma continued to urge him to consciousness, the sound of soft, musical voices could be heard. He shifted restlessly, finally opening his eyes and immediately focusing on a small plate of fruit. He reached over and picked up a berry. Legolas loved berries.

“Finally awake?” a voice asked teasingly.

Aragorn looked up and saw the Prince’s lovely face. Legolas was leaning against the carved headboard, wearing the silver-gray Lórien robe from the night before, picking from the plate of berries that he had placed on the pillow beside the Man.

“He is entitled to sleep in after last night’s activities,” another voice answered, “especially since you are the cause of his fatigue.”

Aragorn did not have to turn around to know that Haldir sat on the other side of him.

“Then he must regain his strength,” the Prince declared, picking up an ornate tray that had been placed on the bedside table and putting it before the Man. The tray had been the source of the delicious morning smells.

“What is this?” the Ranger asked in surprise.

“Breakfast in bed,” Legolas answered. “It was Haldir’s idea,” he added, giving the Guardian a warm smile.

Aragorn sat up and examined the contents of the tray before saying to Haldir, “You will spoil him.”

“He is already spoiled,” the Guardian said dryly.

Legolas narrowed his eyes slightly. “Eat up,” he told the Man, slipping out of bed. “There is still time for a late morning walk and Gimli is expecting us.”

“He is also used to getting his own way,” Aragorn remarked, ignoring the Prince.

“The youngest child of a royal Elven family,” Haldir agreed. “It is not surprising.”

Legolas stood by the bed looking at this two loves with his arms crossed. “I am going to bathe,” he announced, “and then I shall meet Gimli for a walk. You may join us if you wish,” he said, his tone and expression leaving them with little choice. Then he turned around and left the room.

The Ranger and the Guardian exchanged amused looks. They knew that the Prince would get his way again this morning.

~*~*~*~

The Fellowship’s last few days at Caras Galadhon were spent peacefully. Although each knew that their time at the fair Elven city was drawing to a close, none spoke of it. Legolas and Haldir often disappeared for long periods of time, reemerging for the evening meal looking flushed and content. The Prince still went on his morning walks with the Dwarf, with the Guardian and occasionally the Ranger, joining them.

On the eve of the Fellowship’s departure, they were called before the Lord and the Lady once more. The choice was put before them whether to continue their journey or remain in Caras Galadhon to wait for the final end. It was resolved that the Company would go forward, though which course they would take, onwards to Minas Tirith or across the Great River’s eastern shore to Mordor, remained undecided. In order to help them as much as possible, Lord Celeborn gave them swift, light boats for the river Anduin now lay on their path and this gladdened the Company’s hearts; while Lady Galadriel bid them to rest and not to worry overmuch about the road ahead.

Nevertheless, after the Company left their presence, they called a council of their own. They debated long over what they should do and what would be the best means to fulfill their purpose, yet still came to no decision. At long last, Boromir declared that he would go to Minas Tirith to aid his people, alone if need be. Silence greeted this statement and at length, the Captain of Gondor spoke again in a hushed voice as though he were speaking to himself. The Man was deeply troubled and he broke off his train of speech before he could finish, realizing that he spoke his thoughts aloud. Only Frodo and Legolas heard his words, for the hour was late and the others had already drifted off to sleep or were preparing for bed. The Halfling looked hard at the Man, seeing something strange and new in his glance. Legolas turned his attention to Aragorn, who remained deep in thought in his own divided mind and had not heard Boromir’s words.

When everyone else had gone to sleep, the Elf tapped the Ranger on the shoulder and beckoned the Man to follow him. Aragorn stood up silently and the two companions left the pavilion.

“Where are we going?” the Man asked when they were out of earshot of the others.

“To a place where we can enjoy the beauty of Lórien one last time; a place where you may smoke in peace,” the Elf couldn’t help but add cheekily. “Come,” the Prince encouraged, grasping the Ranger’s hand firmly, “do not be troubled tonight. It is as the Lady Galadriel said. Our path has already been laid out before us, but we cannot yet see the way. It shall be revealed to us in due time.”

Legolas led them to the eastern part of the city through silent paths and walkways until he came to a magnificent tree, whose boughs were crowned by the moon’s pale light. Legolas began to climb the tree, expecting Aragorn to follow him.

“There is no ladder,” the Elf said, “but the way is not difficult. The branches are wide and the footholds secure. Come!” he called again.

Aragorn had climbed many trees in his youth, usually at the encouragement of a certain Elf whom he was following now. Legolas climbed quickly above him, heading for an especially large branch on the left where a figure sat leaning against the tree’s broad trunk, one leg dangling over the side. The Elf held out his hand as Legolas neared him and the Prince grasped it, easily sliding into Haldir’s lap. The Ranger looked about him and decided to settle on a large branch beside the two Elves. He eased himself onto it and relaxed against the tree trunk, legs stretched out on the wide branch. He turned his head to the right and smiled at his companions.

The view was magnificent. The city of Caras Galadhon was stretched out before them, lit with myriad lanterns and crowned with soft twilight. Gentle voices filled the air as though the inhabitants were serenading their visiting guests to sleep. A contented Ranger pulled out his pipe and lit it, blowing a series of smoke rings into the night. Legolas leaned over and squeezed the Man’s shoulder comfortingly. It almost felt as if Mithrandir were watching over them that night.

~*~*~*~

The following morning, while the Fellowship readied themselves, Elves who could speak the Common Tongue came to them bringing gifts of food and clothing. Gimli was delighted to discover that the ‘cram’ the Elves brought turned out to be a wonderfully delicious form of waybread that the Galadhrim called lembas.

“This is better than the honeycakes of the Beornings,” the Dwarf declared, eating his cake with relish. “That is a great compliment indeed, for the Beornings are the finest bakers that I know of. You are generous hosts.”

The Elves laughed and thanked the Dwarf, while Merry and Pippin examined the cakes skeptically. They had sampled some of the lembas earlier and found the bread to be tasty, but not overly filling. Legolas approached them and said with a wink, “One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man.” The two young Hobbits exchanged looks of concern, certain that the stomachs would burst before noon.

Next the Elves unwrapped the clothes they had brought, which consisted of a hood and cloak made according to the size and shape of each member of the Company. It was made from the light silken material worn by the Galadhrim, taking on the green of the leaves or the gray twilight hue of the trees as the cloak was shifted in the morning light.

“You are high in the favor of the Lady,” one of the Elves said as they fastened the cloaks onto the members of the Fellowship, “for she and her handmaidens made these clothes themselves.”

“Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people,” another Elf added.

The Galadhrim stepped away from the Company once their cloaks had been fastened, except for the Guardian who remained in front of the Prince. Haldir’s long fingers lingered over the broach at the base of Legolas’s throat. Unlike the other Lórien broaches shaped in the form of delicate green leaves with silver veins, Haldir had given Legolas his own broach of green and gold with a jewel set at its center. The Prince covered the Guardian’s hand with his own and squeezed it, leaning over to press his lips against Haldir’s. They did not mind that the others watched and when the chaste kiss ended, Haldir stepped back in line with the Galadhrim and together the Lórien Elves bowed before their guests.

After the morning meal, the Fellowship gathered by the fountain to say farewell. Haldir came striding across the wide lawn, for he would be their guide once again to the river’s shores. He slipped his hand through the Mirkwood Elf’s and much like the time when he had led the Company to Caras Galadhon, two golden Elves walked at the head of the line through the city’s green ways. The paths were empty, but above them could be heard the sound of murmuring and singing voices. Haldir led them down the southern slopes, past the great gate and across the white bridge onto the paved road. Eventually, they turned away from the road and entered a deep thicket of mallorn trees and passed on through rolling woodlands leading ever southwards towards the Great River.

The Company had walked some ten miles and noon was at hand before they came upon a high green wall. Passing through it, they entered a long lawn of shining grass studded with golden elanor. Before them the lawn ran out into a tongue, dividing the Silverlode on the right and west of the shore from the Great River that ran on the left and east. On the bank of the Silverlode, some way further up, was a hythe of white stones and white wood. Here boats and ships of all sizes were moored. Beside them, three small gray boats had been prepared for the travelers.

The Fellowship was arranged so that Aragorn was in one boat with Frodo and Sam; Boromir, Merry and Pippin in the second; Legolas and Gimli in the third, where most of the goods and packs were stowed. When all was prepared, Aragorn led them up a trial run up the Silverlode. Haldir had warned that although the boats were light-built and would not sink though laden with heavy goods, they were crafty and likely to be wayward if mishandled. The trial run proved to be successful, despite Sam clutching the side of his boat in anxiety, and soon the Company was on their way, following the swift current. As they rounded a sharp bend, they saw a magnificent swan moving regally towards them, its beak of burnished gold and eyes of jet-black. They discerned that it was a boat fashioned in the likeness of a swan being steered by two Elves with black paddles. In the middle of the vessel sat Lord Celeborn and beside him stood the Lady Galadriel, strumming a harp in her hand as she sang.

Galadriel finished her song as her boat drew alongside Aragorn’s and she said, “We have come to bid our last farewell and speed you with blessings from our land.”

“Though you have been our guests,” Celeborn added, “you have not yet eaten with us. We bid you to join us in a parting feast here between the flowing waters that will bear you far from Lórien.”

The Swan passed on to the hythe and the Fellowship followed; Legolas secretly glad that his parting from Haldir had been delayed. The Guardian was of a like mind as he helped the Prince out of his boat. A feast had been laid out on the green lawn and the Company ate and drank their fill in a sedate mood. Legolas and Haldir sat a little apart from the rest of the group, seeing only each other. Aragorn marked how the two lovers seemed strangely present yet remote, living in their suspended reality, seemingly free from the constraints of time. There was no sadness in their looks and gestures and the Ranger wondered if they saw their parting the same way as Men do when they say farewell.

After the meal, Galadriel called the attention of the members of the Fellowship and asked them to drink from the cup of farewell. Then she presented each of them with gifts on behalf of her husband and herself. To Boromir she gave a belt of gold; to Legolas she gave a bow of the Galadhrim and a quiver; to Gimli she gave three strands of her golden hair; Merry and Pippin each received a Noldorin dagger; Sam the Gardener was gifted a small box filled with earth from Galadriel’s own garden which when sprinkled would bloom unlike any garden on Middle Earth; and to Frodo she bestowed the light of Eärendil, the Elves most beloved star.

Among all the gifts presented to the Fellowship, it was Aragorn’s gift that touched Legolas the most. Appointed the new leader of the Company, Galadriel had called the Ranger before her first and they had spoken in soft, elvish tones.

“What have your learnt during your stay here?” she asked kindly.

“I have found my peace and my strength in your fair land,” he answered. “Whatever paths I walk, I know that I shall not tread them alone.”

“Then I am glad,” Galadriel replied. “Here is the gift of Celeborn and Galadriel to you, leader of the Company.” Then she gave the Man a sheath for his sword, overlaid with a tracery of flowers and leaves. On the sheath, in Elven runes composed of many gems was the name Andúril and the lineage of the sword. “In this hour,” Galadriel continued, raising her voice and speaking in the Common Tongue so that all would understand, “you must take the name that was foretold for you, Elessar, the Elfstone of the house of Elendil!”

Aragorn stood before them then and in the eyes of the others, he appeared changed. They had not noticed before how tall and kingly he stood, how noble his brow, how wise his gaze. All wondered at this change, except for Legolas, who had long known the destiny placed before his friend and the Prince’s heart swelled with the knowledge that they had both chosen well. Aragorn sheathed Andúril into its new home, his eyes briefly meeting the Prince. The two friends knew that their paths would remain entwined until the end.

As the Company steered their boats down the Silverlode to join the fast-flowing Anduin, Galadriel had spoken her own words of farewell into the Prince of Mirkwood’s mind. “Stay true to your heart, son of Thranduil. It will not lead you astray. You will see him again.”

Legolas took comfort in her words. All foretelling was lost in these dark days, but nevertheless, he believed this to be true. In their boat, Gimli openly wept before him and he placed a hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder to reassure his friend, while the others watched as the Lady of the Golden Wood faded from their sight. Legolas could only think of his lover and their final moments together. Haldir had braided his hair that morning, infusing the delicate knots with all that he held dear until the Prince could feel their shared love flowing through his very veins. Their parting kiss had not been filled with sadness or sorrow, only love and strength. Legolas steeled himself with renewed hope as he pushed his leaf-shaped paddle into the water. Their Quest would succeed and Sauron would be defeated. He would fight for this, for his family and his people, for all the free lands of Middle-Earth, but most of all; he would fight so that he would be reunited with Haldir again.

 

**~The End~**


End file.
